


Iron Fist and Iron Will

by OneShotRevolt



Category: Tekken (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, tags and rating will be updated as stories are added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-01-29 09:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 53,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21407845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneShotRevolt/pseuds/OneShotRevolt
Summary: Series of short Tekken stories written based on prompts.
Relationships: Kazama Jun/Mishima Kazuya, Mishima Kazumi/Mishima Heihachi
Comments: 137
Kudos: 130





	1. Kazuya & Chaolan: HUM

It was raining and the streets had soaked up the neon from the lights of the buildings above. He watched the way blood ran through his clenched fist and dropped cloudy into mirror puddles. He walked down a street he had walked a thousand times before. A curtain had dropped over the world, and not the cars with their bright headlights, nor the pedestrians with their brilliant rainbow umbrellas, nor the sights and smells and sounds of city beginning to buzz with evening could draw back that veil.

He walked into the lobby of a tall, sleek black building and took an elevator to the top floor. The face looking back at him from the shiny elevator walls was hard, angular, scarred, and dominated by thick dark eyebrows that had rarely stopped frowning in twenty-five years. He licked at a trail of blood drying on his lip. A scuffed blazer hung off his shoulders and he was still wearing his gi bottoms. At least he was wearing his red trainers – his father’s blood barely showed on them.

The elevator gave a _bing_ and the doors slid open. He hammered a fist on an apartment door. He stared at the blood that printed in the place he lifted his hand from.

The door flew open. His brother stood before him, breathing hard. Like he was the one who’d just done the deed and not Kazuya.

“It’s you. It’s you and not-…” Then his arms were around him, and Kazuya winced because everything ached and he could see nothing beyond a facefull of his brother’s silvery hair. Kazuya grunted. “Right, right…” His brother took a step back and brushed the back of his hand quickly over his eyes. He gestured to the apartment. “What can I get you? Coffee? Sake? Whiskey?”

Kazuya sat down on the edge of a chair. He turned over his hands, staring at the blood caked and dry on his knuckles. The rain was loud on the glass of his brother’s apartment. He looked up and watched it move sideways down misted windows.

His brother meandered off into the kitchen and filled up the coffee machine, humming as he pulled glasses out the cupboard and set a bottle of heavy liquor on the counter. Kazuya had never heard him hum before.


	2. Jin: SOLITUDE

Sunlight poured through the windows of the gym. Glinting high rise towers formed a silent forest beyond the glass. The only sound in the room was the pound of Jin’s fist on the punching bag, the squeak of the chain as the bag rocked under the pummelling it took, and Jin’s heavy, laboured breathing.

He would have preferred home – exchanging enormous tower blocks for old Yakushima cedars, where rains fell thick all year round and the smell of sea salt hung on the air like a fresh alarm waking up his lungs. But this was the furthest he could get on what he had: the furthest he could run; the furthest he could hide; the furthest he could retreat. This city was a place of solitude not because it was quiet like Yakushima, but because here he was a no one – a no one finally out of reach of hands that wanted to shape him, use him, and betray him.

He stopped punching the bag and paused. He listened to his breathing and to his heartbeat. He looked at the red gloves on his fists, turning them over. He touched the place on his forehead where there should have been a bullet hole. He closed his eyes.

His mind swam back to peaceful places: to hot springs a stone’s throw from the sea, revealed only when the tide rolled back, and deep woods where the sun would always come through the canopy dappled and turn a spotlight on something he’d never noticed before, and his mother a step before him, her smile always ready for him no matter the occasion. The ache in his chest for her was so much worse now than it had even been when he was fifteen. He had cried then because she was all the stability he knew in the world and he wanted so desperately for her to come back to him. Now there was a different pain – the pain of realising truly what it was to have someone who was free and genuine with their love, and to know that he could never have that again. Because the rest of the world wasn’t filled with Kazama Juns, it was filled with Mishima Heihachis – people who strung you along and manipulated you, gave you a sliver of hope before discarding what they didn’t need.

There could be no more trust after this, no more innocence. Gentle Kazama Jin needed to die. He needed to unlearn all the parts of him that thought the world was beautiful, just as he needed to unlearn that hated Mishima Ryu Karate that he’d studied under his treacherous grandfather. He needed to close up all the places that yearned for affection and peace, and become impenetrable. He needed to embrace this new, terrible loneliness, and accept the new hated truths he’d learned about himself. He needed to weaponise himself for a single purpose before he could allow himself any freedom from this long nightmare.

He stood straight and opened his eyes. The bright light made him blink for a moment. The punching bag before him still swung slightly on its hook. In this brief haven, he would prepare for war.


	3. Heihachi: RAIN

A distant toll of thunder rung sombre across a black sky. The rain started moments later. It came in sweeping sheets, pattering hard on the estate grounds and the old roof of the Mishima dojo.

Heihachi wondered if there was a leak, as drops fell slowly onto the cheeks of Mishima Kazumi, lying perfectly still with her head in his lap.

Somehow her make-up was still perfect: sharp crimson painted on pale canvass. Her hair was only in slight disarray. A stray black line lay across her lips, untouched by even the faintest flutter of breath. She was dressed in a rich ornate kimono, funeral white, like this outcome had already been foreseen and she’d walked to this fate with open arms.

Another toll of thunder. That leak in the roof was still dripping onto his perfect Kazumi. He brushed at his eyes with the back of his hand.

He knelt in the still, half dark, broken only by the flickering candlelight near the dojo shrine and the occasional splash of lightening cracking the room into freeze frame light.

What would he tell little Kazuya? What would he tell his son?

The dojo sunk back into gloom after a bright flash of lightening. The rain was falling heavily. He could see it splattering on the stone at the dojo doorway.

He hovered a hand over Kazumi’s head. He had always seemed too hard, too clumsy, too blunt next to her refined beauty and the delicacy in her features. He withdrew his hand now and turned it over, looking at the coarse, rough lines of his palm. In the end, her neck had snapped so easily in that hand. He’d worked all his life to have that kind of strength, but now it seemed so unimportant, so terrible, so uncontrollable, and the only thing that had really mattered all along, was here, lying dead in his lap.

A blink of lightening brought a long black shadow flashing across the dojo floor. Heihachi glanced up. The distorted shadow had been cast by a small boy: wiry and thin, with a shock of black hair and sharp eyebrows.

His son stood in the dojo door.

“Kazuya,” Heihachi hurried to explain – but that look – the look in the child’s eyes was unearthly. The sheer hate he saw there struck him straight to the bone. Kazuya’s face, always so gentle with care, was contorted into rage and fury and disbelief. His gaze lifted from the body of his mother, slowly, to his father. Heihachi felt a flicker of fear. Those usually soft, brown eyes were harder than steel. Less a child and more a force of nature. The lightening blinked again and lit Kazuya with a fell light. Angular shadows haunted his face and hung in his cheeks, blackening the sockets of his eyes until he looked unhuman. Somehow, Heihachi knew in that moment that there would be no making this right. There would be no words that would ever undo that magnitude of hate born in his son’s eyes just then.

The tears that rolled down his cheeks as Kazuya left were not just for Kazumi, but also for his lost son, and for himself, and for the future that he’d set in motion.


	4. Kazuya: ALONE

The analyst handed over the last of the data on a clipboard.

Kazuya knew they all worked on electronic pads and touch displays, and printed off the paper results just for him. By the time his body had been rebuilt, nearly twenty years of technology had passed. He was good at getting himself up to speed, but his eyes still ached when he stared at screens for too long. People in the twenty-first century spent all the time looking at screens. He took the clipboard and flipped through the pages.

“This is all on Prototype 03.” Kazuya looked up from the files. The analyst passed a tongue over their lower lip. They placed their hands behind their back, trying to hide the shaking fingers Kazuya had already seen. He got a different analyst reporting to him each day. He knew they drew straws for who would have to hand data over to him. “Nothing on the Devil Gene,” he remarked.

“No new breakthroughs, sir.” The analyst bowed and remained in the bow, hoping to ward off that notorious temper.

Kazuya’s lip twitched. Anger at lack of progress rarely sped up the answers he wanted, though, and only depleted him of useful researchers. He gave a heavy sigh.

“I’ll… I’ll leave you alone then, sir?” The analyst asked. Their eyes were still wide like a deer before the barrel of a rifle. Kazuya waved a hand dismissively. The analyst fled the room as soon as they saw the gesture.

**You’re never really alone though, are you.**

Kazuya’s mouth twisted in displeasure and he brought his thumb and middle finger up to rub his temples. He went to a drinks cabinet and poured himself a whiskey.

**That won’t drown me out.**

Kazuya tossed the clipboard onto his desk and sunk into his chair. He sipped at the whiskey. The fiery texture flared as it spun down his throat. 

“It helps,” he said aloud to the empty room.

**You injure me. We’ve become such good lodging partners these last few years, would you deny me a little light conversation?**

“Your conversations are never light.”

A cackle of black laughter reverberated in Kazuya’s skull. He winced as it throbbed behind his eyes.

**You’re still trying to ‘research’ your Devil Gene.**

Kazuya rolled his chair back and put his feet up on his desk. The neon lights of Tokyo were glittering beyond the glass walls of his office.

“And? What of it?”

**Still trying to control me, Mishima Kazuya?**

“Always,” Kazuya returned evenly.

**When will you learn? You cannot _control _me. And to try and do so will provoke me. You do not want to provoke me.**

“You promised me power. Don’t act surprised when I want power over you, too.”

** Tread that path carefully, Kazuya. **

“Or what? Working with me conveniences you, now quiet down or I’ll silence you myself.”

** You do not get to give orders to me! I’m the one that dragged us out that canyon! I’m the one that beat Heihachi! I’m the reason G-Corp bothered to put your body back together! Everything you have is because of me! Have a care how you speak, or- **

Kazuya stood and a ripple of energy burst through his limbs. His shirt tore open at the back, breaking into the towering claws of wings, while razor sharp scales shredded his sleeves. He looked at his reflection in the black window. Horns curled up from his skull and a red eye blazed in his forehead. His skin was all reptilian scales, shimmering violet in colour. He smiled and white fangs flashed in the mirror dark. He sipped his whiskey. 

“Ah, alone again.”

He laughed. The silence that stretched after that was long and blissful. It sounded like power. 


	5. Kazuya & Chaolan: DIRT

The first time Lee Chaolan punched Kazuya to the ground was on the first day they’d met. Kazuya had hit first. Maybe. It was hard to recall. Chaolan had hit back harder. And that had marked the start of their tumultuous brotherhood, filled with the taste of blood and dirt and knuckles between each other’s teeth.

Kazuya remembered vividly the feeling of the crushed bonsai tree beneath him and the earth under his cheek. He remembered the panic when he realised that this boy dragged in from the street had a punch that could rival his own carefully cultivated craft. He remembered the fear when he realised he’d fallen into the bed of one of his father’s ornamental gardens. Then he remembered the manic grin that had split his own face. Because he’d fallen in the dirt before, and clawed his way back up from hell itself. And there weren’t any more punches that could keep him down. He remembered the dismay on his new brother’s face as he stood tall again and wiped the blood from his chin. He remembered the flicker of uncertainty in Chaolan’s eyes as he awaited the punishing return blow. He remembered his own laughter, disturbing Chaolan more than any punch could have.

He’d seen that same look at the first tournament, when his brother had finally crumpled before him on the arena stage. He remembered the floodlights and the roaring crowds and the lit-up billboards rolling their adverts and the flashing cameras. Chaolan had looked up at him from the floor with that same expectant fear, waiting with a weighty dread for what would come next. Kazuya had blotted out the impatient screams of the audience, all sitting on the edge of their seats to see the final blow that would knock his brother out.

“Stay down,” Kazuya had told him. And after a long, stiff, pause, Chaolan had complied. And there was the difference between them. Kazuya could never let go. He could never rest with the taste of dirt on his tongue and defeat in his throat. He had to keep getting up.

“Don’t confront him.” That was what Chaolan had told him two years later as they sat in Kazuya’s office. They’d been looking over new CCTV footage that confirmed Heihachi was alive and well. “Let it go. He has nothing. He has no power over us.” But they both knew that wasn’t the way it worked. Kazuya had to get up. Had to rise to the fight. Had to go to war just that one last time.

Kazuya remembered the first tablet he’d held in his hand. He’d screwed up his eyes at the small bright screen and futuristic technology. He remembered reading of the twenty years that had passed by without him. Of how Heihachi ruled the Zaibatsu whilst Chaolan had sequestered himself away in a tropical island business empire. He remembered shaking his head in disbelief.

And now he was here again. On a precipice with the stink of sulphur heavy in the air and bubble of magma sliding slow in sluggish eddies as it chewed down the black, granite prison of its volcanic walls. There was that taste in his mouth again: blood, dirt, victory. He was standing. And this time he knew Heihachi wouldn’t be getting back up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my friend [ThalieXVII](https://www.inkitt.com/Thaliexvii) because lots of the ideas in this one came out of our non-stop Kaz and Lee RPing ♥


	6. Heihachi & Kazumi: TORN

Kazumi slid the door shut behind her and stepped slowly and noiselessly down the wooden corridor. She opened another door at the end and closed this behind her too. She breathed out a pent up breath.

“Is Kazuya sleeping?” Heihachi sat cross-legged on the tatami, not looking up from the paperwork he was reading. He sipped from a small cup of sake then set it back down on a low, ornate table before him.

“Yes.” Kazumi knelt and folded her hands in her lap. Heihachi looked up. Kazumi waited until she had his gaze. “He’s asking after his grandfather again.”

Heihachi’s face fell into a frown. He regarded her from under thick, dark eyebrows but said nothing.

Kazumi’s heart sunk. She closed her eyes.

“I told you,” Heihachi said, “my father left on some urgent business. He may be away for some time. Business is like that sometimes.”

“I know you fought with him. I know he opposed you taking over his corporation and challenged what you were doing with it.”

“Nothing much gets passed you.” Heihachi’s glower broke into a soft smile.

Kazumi did not return it.

“This isn’t the right path to walk down, my love. I know running this corporation means a lot to you, but it will come to you eventually. Make up with your father, give the Mishima Corporation back to him. Kazuya misses his grandfather. And I miss my sweet Heihachi.”

Heihachi’s face darkened again.

“It’s called the Mishima Zaibatsu now. And it’s already expanded far beyond the meagre plans of my father. I will make the Mishima name a global empire. My father was slow and took no risks. He was afraid of progress. The Zaibatsu is flourishing under me. And my lieutenants love me as they never loved him.”

“Lieutenants? Is this a business or an organised crime syndicate?”

“Kazumi!” Heihachi said sharply, “I’d ask you not to speak like that. I may have a more efficient approach than my father, but that doesn’t mean there’s any illegality to it.”

“What happened to there being no secrets between us, my love? Have you forgotten that I read your features as I might an open book? You’re changing. Taking over this corporation has not done you good. It is setting you on a path that will end in darkness. Not just for yourself, but for your father, for me, for our son.”

“I’m doing this for all of us! This is the beginning of a golden age for the Mishima! Kazuya will inherit an empire! Would you deny him an inheritance like that just because my father has some old-fashioned business ideas?”

Kazumi let out a deep sigh.

“You’re not hearing me, Heihachi. It is you I am frightened for. Can you not hear me when I say you’re changing? The things you want… the things you’re willing to sacrifice… the things you’re willing to do… You need to take stock, and think about what’s happening. Did you know Kazuya was afraid of you today?”

Heihachi’s resolve faltered. He set his paperwork down, concern in his eyes.

“What-… what do you mean?”

“He says he went to show you a move he’d practiced, but saw you shouting at someone in your study. He came to me, frightened, asking why you were angry. He wouldn’t let go of my hand for most of the morning.”

“That’s not-… I was only-… He wasn’t meant to see that. There was just a hiccup earlier. One of my lieutenants-”

“Does it matter what it was about? You’re scaring your family.”

“I’m doing this _for_ my family!” Heihachi insisted, eyes flashing.

“You’re not doing it for your father. You’re not doing it for Kazuya. You’re not doing it for me. Who are you doing this for, other than yourself?”

Heihachi rose suddenly to his full height, his expression terrible and storm dark. Kazumi watched him with a solemn, steady gaze and sorrow pooling in her heart.

“You will see,” he said softly. “The future will be glorious. The whole world will know the Mishima name. In ten years time, we will look back on this moment and laugh at the idea that you wanted to confront me over this. Our family will have all it could ever have wished for and more. Mark my words.”

He collected his papers together and stalked off to his study.

Kazumi was left sitting alone, torn.


	7. Heihachi & Jin: SNOW

Heihachi closed his eyes as he sipped at his hot sake. He slid his toes out of his slippers and sighed as he stretched his legs. It had been a long day and his final appointment had just left. He was looking forward to a quiet, crisp, winter evening alone.

Just as he sipped his sake again a knock sounded on the door frame. His eyes creaked open.

“What?” he called. The door slid open an inch. One of his house staff appeared in the crack.

“Mr Mishima, sir. There is… a matter that…”

“Spit is out!”

“Yes, sir!” The door opened fully and the man bowed low to him. “There is a boy asking for you at the estate gate, sir.”

Heihachi craned his neck back to look at the man.

“A boy?”

“Yes, sir. A boy. At the gate. We sent him away but he came back. We chased him off and he came back again. He’s very persistent. He’s been loitering there for the better part of four hours. He does keep calling for you by name, though, so I thought I better ask how you want us to deal with the situation.”

Heihachi sniffed his steaming hot sake. He sighed and downed it, barely even having a chance to enjoy its unique touch of flavour.

“Drive me to the gates.”

The estate was a landscape of pure white. Trees stood frozen with silver icicles lining their branches like necklaces of teeth. The gates alone stood out bright painted red against the bleak snow. Heihachi drew his tiger skin coat about him as he got out the car. The biting cold sent his breath into clouds. He squinted through a new flurry of snow starting to drift through the air. He could see nothing beyond the gates. He stepped distastefully though the snow. It crunched deep beneath his feet.

“Hello?” he called. “Show your face, unless you want to be mauled by a bear!” He threw back his head and laughed, planting his hands on his hips. He stopped laughing abruptly when he saw movement.

  
From out of the trees by the road, a boy came into view. He was lean, with haunting dark eyes, and a thin sports jacket that couldn’t keep out the cold. His teeth chattered as he looked up at Heihachi.

Heihachi sighed, clearly this kid hadn’t heard the rumours about the Mishima Estate. It was high time he scared off the local public again and reminded them why no one even dared to set foot within miles of the place, let alone come begging for charity. He cracked his knuckles. This was going to be fun.

Just then, the boy pulled down his hood.

Heihachi froze. His breath stopped. He felt the blood drain from his face. It couldn’t be.

“K-Kazuya?”

But so young. His son looked so young. Was this what guilt looked like? Two cups of sake on a lonely winter night and suddenly the phantom of the child he killed was walking about his home? He paused, collecting his fright from where it had charged his conscience.

This boy had to be in his mid-teens. And his face was clean of scars, and clean of that hate that had always lined his son’s face. If this was a phantom, it was a pretty inaccurate one. His subconscious could do better than this.

“I’m-… I’m Kazama Jin,” the boy said. His serious eyes regarded Heihachi with an innocence that he could barely remember Kazuya ever having.

Heihachi’s confidence slid back to him slowly, and he grew back to his full height from the places that gnawing guilt had hunted him.

“Kazama Jin, is it?” he asked. He might not know the name, but he wasn’t stupid. This was more than a coincidental likeness. It seemed his anti-social son had got up to more in the two years he’d had free reign over his life than Heihachi had first anticipated.

The boy shivered and brushed snowflakes off his eyelashes and from the places where they’d collected on his fringe.

“I… I’m your grandson.” The boy said. His voice was quiet and weighed with sorrow beyond his years. He was all the things Kazuya had never been. He stood there, hugging his arms around himself, looking up at Heihachi with hope in his eyes, even as he checked about himself fearfully. Heihachi looked down at the boy. This was a child who would love him, and look up to him, and follow his commands without question or bitterness or rebellion, in a way Heihachi’s sons never had.

Heihachi signalled and the gates opened.

“Well, you better come in then, Kazama Jin.”

The boy stepped into Heihachi’s footprints as he followed Heihachi obediently to the car.

“Th-thank-you, Mr Mishima,” the boy said through chattering teeth. His shoulders shivered and his cheeks were flaming red from the cold, but he still managed a deep bow to his grandfather.

Yes, Heihachi thought, this one was going to be much better than the last lot of ungrateful children that had lived under his roof.


	8. Kazuya & Jun: TEDDYBEAR

Jun shook her hair out then collected it up with a white band. She tugged her gi straight and tightened her belt. She pushed away the hubbub and dull noise of the arena above by imagining it was the sea, with its distant murmur that ebbed and flowed. She thought of azure tides on shale beaches and the sound of water as it sucked back through the small stones then rushed forward with cream waves. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

When she opened her eyes, a small stuffed bear was right in front of her nose. It was fluffy and grey and clutching a small red heart. She stared at the bear, then wheeled on the man holding it.

  
  
“_Kazuya?_ What are you _doing_ here!”

“Visiting you. Isn’t it obvious?”

“In the ladies changing room, I mean?!”

  
  
“Hi,” Kazuya waved at the unamused faces of the other competitors that had turned his way. “Mishima Kazuya here. I’m running this tournament. So turn around and get on with whatever you were doing unless you want to be disqualified.”

  
  
Sour faces abruptly turned away from him. Jun fixed him with an unamused look.

“Take your bear,” he told her, “it’s inappropriate for the CEO of the Mishima Zaibatsu to be seen holding it.” He dropped the toy into Jun’s hand.

“And… why do I have a bear?”

“Valentine’s Day.”

“Sorry, what?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day. And in the West, I heard even the ladies get presents on Valentine’s Day. Since I’m cultured and thoughtful, I got you a gift.”

“Right.” Jun turned the bear over in her hands. It was soft and velvety and pleasing to hold. “So, Chaolan put you up to this.”

Kazuya scowled at her.

“I can do nice things without being told to by my brother.”

“Did he buy the bear too?”

Kazuya let out a huff of air. “I told him you’d know he bought it.” He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. His thick eyebrows sloped into a frown. “I also came to tell you not to participate in the tournament.”

“We’ve had this conversation before and I’m not changing my mind.”

“Even though I brought you a bear?”

“Even though you brought me a bear.”

“Stupid,” he muttered.

“What was that?” Jun said sharply.

“It was… uh, stupid to think a teddybear would change your mind.”

“Yes,” she replied, “it was pretty stupid to think that.” She turned to him and looped her arms around his neck. She saw his eyes dart self-consciously about the room to check who might be watching. “But it _was_ pretty sweet to bring me a teddybear.”

The hardness in his dark, intense eyes melted. He unfolded his arms and set his hands on her waist. The hulk of his shoulders crowded close and the shadows in his face softened. As he leaned in towards her, he could smell jasmine and count her eyelashes and hear the quickened pace of his own breathing in rhythm with the gallop of his heart.

“So tell Chaolan I appreciate the gesture.” She pushed him away and ducked out of his reach. He cursed under his breath. “They’re announcing the next fight, better hurry up if you want to watch it from your royal box, Mr Mishima.” Her bright eyes were tipped with a smile that simultaneously made him furious and longing.

Kazuya glared at Jun, then stamped out of the changing rooms and back up the Iron Fist Tournament.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cherry gave me a soft prompt. And also it's Valentine's Day, so you get one angst free day to have these guys doing their love bickering again.


	9. Jin & Hwoarang: SAND

Sand ran under his feet in familiar waves. It skittered off down dunes as he walked. The landscape here shifted with each ripple of wind, blown into new crests like a slowly aging sea.

He remembered walking here like the edges of a dream. There were faint memories – the bake of the sun, the hot grains of sand that found their way into his boots and under the shroud of his wraps, the way the air shimmered with heat and made the horizon simmer like a rice cooker.

He hadn’t thought he would ever return to the Arabian Desert, let alone so quickly. He’d nearly died out here, not so long ago. He’d wandered these sands in a feverish haze. This time he was here by his own choosing though. He’d had a helicopter drop him in an inconspicuous stretch of desert and was now making his way over a ridge and down into an ancient town.

The town was flagged with old cracked stone and punctured by sand-swept buildings picked out in blue tile mosaic. Jin wrapped his headscarf tighter about him as he entered the town. The rumble of cars merged with snort of grumbling camels. The smell of sweet, fresh fruit, dust, and petrol hung close about him as car horns blared and shouts of wares in a language he couldn’t understand filled the air. He found his way back to the last place he recognised – a marketplace selling carpets and vegetables, nuts, pottery, glassware, selfie sticks, and mobile phones. He withdrew a small datapad from within the wraps of his clothing. He looked up and spotted the top of the hospital building he was aiming for.

It took some time for a nurse who spoke English to come to the reception. The hospital was bustling in a kind of organised madness. Jin had to explain himself slowly three times – his English was thickly impenetrable, largely thanks to a heavy Japanese accent, but also the abundance of Australian slang that he’d picked up and wasn’t sure how to separate from the rest of his vocabulary. When he’d finally made himself understood, he was given a room number and pushed in a direction.

The ward was clean and bright. A number of different beds, some empty, some filled, lined the room. Jin’s eyes moved to a bed at the end with a shock of auburn hair just visible from under white linen sheets. He approached warily. The man in the bed did not seem to notice him. His head was turned toward the window. The side of his face closest to Jin was covered with a white bandage. Jin’s heart sank.

“Hwoarang?” he said cautiously.

The young man’s face snapped in his direction, and he then winced at the movement.

“Ow. Kazama, you bastard, you made me hurt my neck.”

Jin pulled up a plastic stool and sat by the bedside.

“Don’t get comfy!” Hwoarang said, turning his head awkwardly so that he could see Jin out of his good eye. “Just because I’m in this bed, don’t mean I’m an invalid! I could still take you easy!”

Jin gave a weak smile.

“And don’t you dare give me that pity look!” Hwoarang continued. “Between me and the grenade, who’s looking prettier, huh? That’s right – it’s in a thousand pieces and I’m sitting here still telling the tale, and mostly all intact too!”

“I’m sorry I left you.” Jin had been trying to work out the words to say for the whole of his flight over here.

“Huh? You’re sorry, are you? You’da been even sorrier if the UN caught your ass and hauled up in front of some court of human rights to atone for war crimes against the whole planet.”

Jin winced. Hwoarang had always had a way of cutting to the heart of a matter.

“In fact, I’d be majorly pissed at you if you hadn’t run,” he went on. “I’d be sitting here sporting my heroic war wound and watching you on high def tv plead your sorry case to lawyers and bigwigs and that.”

Jin sat with his legs apart, hands interlocked together, looking down.

“… How bad is it?” Jin asked quietly.

Hwoarang paused for the first time. Jin heard pain in that silence.

“It’s no big deal. Lost the eye. But I’ll just have to train back up without it. It’ll finally give you the chance you need to try and best me, Kazama.” He grinned cheekily.

Jin regarded him with steady, serious eyes.

“Eeh! Stop looking at me like that!” Hwoarang pulled down his sheet and folded his arms. “I made a choice and I stick by it! Ain’t got nothing to do with you. Have you learned nothing about how stubborn I am yet? There’s no point having any regrets, because it would have gone down like this regardless! No way I’m letting some UN types blow you up and ruin my fun. I’m the only one who gets to defeat you.”

Another pause. More car horns, and somewhere a megaphone crackled into life and call to prayer wound into the sound of street life below.

“Thank-you,” Jin said.

Hwoarang craned his neck to look at him.

“Yeah,… no, this isn’t gonna work. Sit on the bed, Kazama, I ain’t gonna bust my spine for you too.”

An involuntarily smile crept onto Jin’s face. He pushed Hwoarang’s legs over and sat on the bed.

“And don’t sweat it,” Hwoarang put his hands behind his head. “I’m gonna get a badass eye patch. I’m gonna change up my whole style to be more y’know… bad boy.”

“It wasn’t before?” Jin asked.

“Kazama, you think I’m a bad boy?” Hwoarang cracked a lopsided grin at him.

“Uh…” Jin wasn’t sure what to say. Hwoarang burst out laughing at his expression.

“Ahhaaaah. You really haven’t changed at all.” Hwoarang wiped a tear from his eye. “I’m glad though,” he said, fixing Jin with a surprisingly earnest look. “With everything that’s happened… I’m glad you’re still you underneath it all somewhere.”

Jin nodded. “As am I. Thank you for persevering. It can’t have been easy. I’m… very fortunate to have people who keep caring, even when I push them away.”

“Woah there! Don’t go getting all soppy on me. I’m just after my fight, is all. Gotta keep my rival, Kazama Jin, on his toes so we can settle this between us once at for all.”

“That why you flew half way round the world and traipsed through a desert to find me?” Jin gave a sly smile. “And signed up to four Iron Fist tournaments? Including, huh – one time didn’t you desert the army just to try and get your rematch with me?”

“Shut up, Kazama.” Hwoarang blew his hair out of his face and folded his arms. He glanced out the window. Jin joined him. A blazing blue sky was painted over a cityscape of modern buildings mixed up with the stone architecture of antiquity. “I kinda like this town,” Hwoarang said, steering the conversation noticeably elsewhere. “This view in particular is getting kinda old, but the place’s still gotta good feel to it.”

Jin hadn’t been too surprised to find Hwoarang still here. He didn’t have many means of his own or contacts, and, Hwoarang being Hwoarang, he probably hadn’t told anyone before he ran out on his wild goose chase to track Jin down.

“Well… can I interest you in some Japanese scenery? Tokyo perhaps?”

Hwoarang unfolded his arms and looked back at him. There was a pause. Something like relief passed over Hwoarang’s face, along with a quieter more genuine smile.

“Sure thing. Was getting a little tired of all this sand anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woke up this morning with one chapter of Chasing Demons and this short story inside me. All is finally written. Have some bad boys in the desert pretending they don't care for each other. There's probaby still some typos, but I'll fix them later.


	10. Kazuya: DRUG

Kazuya clasped the terminal for support. He glared down at his legs.

“We can’t risk any more injections, I’m afraid, Mr Mishima. It will just take time and practice to build your strength up again.”

Kazuya’s lip twitched, but he nodded.

The laboratory was full of instruments he didn’t understand and slim, futuristic screens. Even in their trim labcoats, he could see the telltale signs of fashion trends that had passed him by in the hair, make-up, and clothing of the scientists and technicians.

He had awoken yesterday, surrounded by strangers, in a laboratory with no windows. He knew that the memories in his head had not happened recently. He could feel it in his bones. Time had passed. The clock had ticked and tolled out its judgement on his life. No one he knew was here. No one had stayed. He was alone. Alone and an asset in a private company.

He pushed that away. He was alive. Nothing else mattered. He’d been here before. When you wake up alive, you don’t ask how: you stay quiet, and gather strength and climb back up to where you’ve fallen from.

“Yesterday we ran some tests, Mr Mishima, and explained to you a little about where you are and what our company does. Do you remember that?”

Kazuya nodded.

“In today’s session we’re going to test some emotional responses and basic memory functions. There are some things you should know, Mr Mishima.” The scientist speaking to him stood with a clipboard, watching him as he held onto the terminal. Kazuya was silent. The power he so coveted was a long way from him. He was naked, with medical strips stuck over the places where needles had been removed from his skin. A few smaller needles remained, connected to thin plastic tubes that stimulated his stiff muscles. He could see their silver styluses pressed up just under his skin, stuffed into veins that ran blue in fields of dark bruises.

“Are you listening, Mr Mishima,” the scientist said sharply. Kazuya looked up. He disliked the man’s tone, but it was true his mind had been wandering again. He nodded. “It has been nearly twenty years, since your father threw you into a volcano.”

Kazuya was silent.

“Do you have anything to say about that, Mr Mishima? How does it make you feel? You need to speak in order for us to process how well your auditory responses are functioning.”

Kazuya said nothing.

“Very well,” the scientist sighed. “You should also know, you have a son.”

Kazuya blinked. He pushed away from the terminal and stood unsteadily, but unaided. His thoughts went to a young woman, her smile as bright as yesterday, her eyes dark, rooting through his soul and baring him to the light. For the first time since he had awoken, some of the walls inside him came down a little. A son. The knowledge warmed him in a way he could never have predicted. A son. A child. Something made from him that wasn’t pain or wealth or war. A son. He would have missed so much, but that was his loss, not the boy’s. No one could ask for a better person to live by than Kazama Jun. She would have raised him fine. Raised him more than fine. Raised h-

“Mr Mishima?” The scientist peered at him. Kazuya saw now that it wasn’t a clipboard that the scientist was holding, but a screen the size of a clipboard. The man had no pen and was instead tapping the screen with his finger, making the display change just by touch. “How does that make you feel?”

Kazuya was still quiet. Eventually, though, he spoke.

“What is his name?”

“Kazama Jin.”

“Kazama Jin,” Kazuya repeated slowly. It sounded good. It sounded more like her and less like him. Always a good thing. “He is twenty,” he said, more a statement than a question.

“That’s right,” the scientist replied. He was tapping on his screen, and didn’t seem too invested in the conversation. That didn’t matter to Kazuya, he could hold this knowledge inside him like a brilliant candle. This lonely, technologically advanced world suddenly held promise.

“He will know Kazama Ryu,” Kazuya murmured.

“What’s that?” the scientist asked.

“He will know the names of all the plants on Yakushima. He will know when the bitter gourds are ready to harvest and how the air goes before a storm comes.”

“I can’t hear you, Mr Mishima, can you speak up?”

Kazuya blinked again. His thoughts came away from those softer places and he returned his attention to the scientist. He said nothing more though.

The scientist tapped his display again.

“Some other events of note that can help us test your memory as well as other responses... You were briefly intimate with the woman, Kazama Jun. You should know, five years ago Miss Kazama was attacked and is now presumed dead. Can you talk us through how that makes you feel?”

The hum of machinery was loud. Liquid bubbled in a glass tank behind them. A monitor somewhere beeped a steady rhythm.

“Mr Mishima?”

The lights were too glaring, but somehow everything was in darkness. The texture of things he touched was in overload, and yet so absent. New scars on his body ached next to old ones from a life time ago. His own breath was dry and heavy, like a corpse dragged up with a mouth full of ash and told to live.

“Put me back in the tank. Up the dosage of whatever you’re using to knock me out.”

“Mr-”

Kazuya’s face went to fury and he pinned the man with his glare. The scientist shrunk back with a gasp:

“Y-your eye! It’s-”

“Don’t make me repeat myself!”

He was lowered back into the tank. Tubes down his throat and mask over his face took care of his breathing needs. Submerged in the water, his senses fell silent. His shaking limbs were freed from the toil of gravity. And with the final rush of drugged oblivion, the torture in his mind slipped into welcome black nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will write nice things again soon, I promise. :[]  
Based on a prompt from Twitter.


	11. Kazuya: THUNDER

Kazuya sat on the tatami. Rain was running down the gutters beyond the walls of his room. Its constant steady fall came as a sheet, muting all sounds beyond, save the occasional grumble of thunder.

He turned the pages of the comic book he was reading, content as he lost himself in the black and white pictures and the stories within: distant times and places, far from the confines of the magnificent Mishima Estate. Within the pages of his book there were tales of another world – rich dramas between characters torn between loyalties and loves and the things they would do to keep safe those they cherished. Fantastical virtues and imagined honour had a sacred place in his comic books.

A door slid shut with a slam somewhere. Kazuya’s head lifted. His dark, steady eyes fixed on the door of his room.

His room was large, filled with fine craftsmanship but bare in a way a child’s room should never be. It had a handcrafted dresser, and a polished cherrywood table, and a small bookshelf. The paper in the walls was all brilliant calligraphy of dark swooping ink and traditional horizons dotted with thin brush sweeps intimating birds in flight. There was never any shortage of finery in the Mishima mansion but that couldn’t stop it being empty.

Another door slammed. Kazuya hadn’t looked back to his book. He sat alert.

Footsteps came heavy up the wooden hallway. The house rattled with every step. Kazuya felt the floor beneath him shake. His breath came a little faster. He put aside his book and sat straighter. He composed himself and set his stubborn scowl in place as he looked at his door. He narrowed his eyes and regulated his breathing, keeping a controlled calm in his features. He made sure his expression was proud and haughty and aloof, ready for anything that came through that door.

The dull boom of those footsteps resonated with the thunder. It felt like the whole world was as caught up in those reverberations. The footsteps stopped outside his door. Kazuya’s posture faltered. The steady rain washed through the quiet. The thunder boomed softly again. The house had stopped trembling but Kazuya’s fingers had not. His heart hammered painfully hard in his chest, like his ribcage was trying to close shut on it and squeeze it into silence. The was a slight squeak as the wooden door started to slide open.

Kazuya grabbed his comic and darted behind the dresser – the only piece of furniture large enough to block a view from the doorway. He crouched low with his back to the handsome black wood. He wrapped his arms around his knees to make himself smaller. The comic book was crushed so tight between his chest and his thighs, he could feel the hard edge of its corners pressing into him.

The door slid fully open. Light from the hallway lit the tatami a glowing orange. There were beautiful lamps always kept lit in the hallway. They had painted stories on their paper lanterns and always spread their treacherous glow into places that Kazuya wished could hold more shadows.

Kazuya held his breath and closed his eyes tightly. He put his forehead to his knees and counted slowly in his head. One. Two. Three. When he got to four, the thunder tolled out. When he got to ten, it tolled again.

Then the door slid shut.

Kazuya poked his nose out from around the dresser. The room was empty. He kept his breath still held and waited. Footsteps. This time moving away. When the thunder boomed once more. Kazuya let out his breath.

He picked up his comic and sat back down on the tatami and began to read again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I wouldn't do another sad one next, but I was in a melancholy mood, sorry :,(


	12. Jin & Chaolan: HOPE

Jin sat in a darkened corner of the changing rooms. He was slowly winding a wrap around his hand. The movement was almost automatic – between two fingers – wrap – between finger and thumb – wrap – between two different fingers – wrap – between finger and thumb – and on. There was no peace in the repetition, just a temporary ceasefire in his brimming rage and determination.

“Quite a frown you’ve got on you there, young man.”

Jin’s eyes rolled over slowly to the speaker. He spoke in English with an American accent. The man had some ridiculous get up too, though Jin was coming to expect that of American participants: purple hair, aviator sunglasses, a white pinstripe suit over a lilac shirt. Jin ignored him.

“You were the last tournament champion, weren’t you?” the man continued, apparently not noticing Jin’s attempts to shrug him off. “Didn’t see you pick up your prize though.”

Jin froze. The ending of the last tournament crashed through his head without warning. His muscles clenched and he was momentarily paralysed. His body quivered with tension and a lump stuck hard in his throat. His heart was hammering and sweat broke out on his forehead. His hood was up though and his fringe fell heavy over his face – he just had to hope the stranger couldn’t see this weakness. He was here to beat down those nightmares, not relive them. He knew this tournament was a trap laid by his grandfather – he couldn’t afford to let his guard down for even a second. And there were rumours that his father was here too – brought back by some unnatural science to finish some unholy revenge spree. Jin needed all of his strength if was going to compete against those forces. He had to look unbeatable. He couldn’t let himself be drowned by fear.

The stranger sat down next to him.

“I saw you practising earlier,” the man said. Jin was glad to have the distraction away from the places his mind had taken him. A gun pointed in his face, the night sky cracking with the flash of bullets, the clack of geta sandals on stone. He couldn’t bring himself to respond, but he focussed on the stranger’s voice. “That’s a new style to the one I saw you use on TV last time. It’s impressive that you mastered it so quickly. It’ll give you the edge against both Heihachi and Kazuya. They’ll be expecting Mishima Ryu from you. The surprise should give you the upper hand.”

Jin was slowly reeling himself back out of those nightmares.

“Not for long,” he murmured. He said it in Japanese, partly because he wasn’t confident in his English, partly because he was hoping the man might give up his belligerence when he assumed Jin couldn’t understand him.

“Sometimes that brief edge is all that’s needed to swing a fight.” The man stayed by his side, his voice gentle and soothing. Jin blinked when he realised the man understood him. It wasn’t everyday he met a foreigner who knew his native tongue.

“They say Mishima Kazuya is alive and that he’s going to come here...” Jin wasn’t sure why he was talking to this man. It felt somehow better with him beside him though. Jin had spent so much of the last two years alone.

“They do indeed say that,” the stranger said quietly. He seemed more reflective now, even melancholic, and a far cry from the boisterous character Jin had first assumed him to be. “We shall see, I suppose.”

“...He’s my father.” Jin said it as much for himself as for the stranger.

“...Yes.” The stranger was now thoroughly mired in his introspection.

“They say Heihachi killed him. Perhaps it’s a vengeful ghost, come to make Heihachi pay.”

“Do you believe in such things, Kazama Jin?” The mirror lens aviators reflected Jin’s uncertainty back to himself.

“… Maybe. I don’t know.” Sometimes when he’d been practising alone in hiding, he’d taken comfort in thought that his mother might be close, watching over him. Perhaps that was stupid though. Perhaps the dead were just dead. “He hasn’t come to find me. He hasn’t said anything to me at all. He’s probably just a monster like Heihachi. I’ll end him along with my grandfather if I have to.”

The stranger looked down at his hands. There were smart black, fingerless gloves on his hands, but Jin thought the way they twisted together betrayed some agitation.

“Perhaps he is,” the stranger said. “We can only wait and see.” The man turned suddenly and gave Jin a brilliant smile. “Don’t you worry though. Whatever comes, you handle it. Keep your chin up. Have confidence. If anyone can win this tournament, you can.” The man stood.

Jin was struck by tug of loss. He wished the man would sit for five more minutes with his calming voice and gentle understanding. Jin couldn’t remember the last time he’d had someone to listen to him like that. He didn’t say anything though.

“I’m sure you’ll be excellent!” The man said in English, and gave him a thumbs up. It was then that Jin realised they’d been speaking Japanese together for quite some time. He stood up quickly, but the odd man had already sauntered off, laughing and saluting other fighters as he passed by, until he was out of reach and out of sight.

Jin frowned in confusion. He sat back down and began wrapping up his other hand. He felt lighter though, like a ray of hope had touched down and shed a little light into the darkness of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a request here for Lee and Jin for hope :) It's Violet and the first time the meet but close enough!  
Let Jin have soft moments with his uncle <3


	13. Kazuya: GIFT

Kazuya looked over the room with disinterest. Almost everyone present was as good as a stranger and there was barely anyone he could stand having a conversation with. He supposed for some that would make this a lame attempt at a coming of age party. He didn’t mind though. There were more important things at stake. Like the fact that today he sat at the table next to his father, whilst every other table was in one of two parallel rows spread before them like an honour guard. Even his brother sat at one of those lesser tables. And the fact that today he became a full employee of the Mishima Zaibatsu, with a rank only under Mishima Heihachi himself. And the fact that Heihachi could no longer have the final say over every detail in his life.

Today Kazuya sat in full hakama and kimono, thinking about how tomorrow he would burn it, and never abide by a single one of his father’s traditions again.

The day had been one dreary set of formalities after another – public speeches by the mayor, dignitaries, even Heihachi himself, followed by photographs with all the youth gathered in their finery for the day, then a parade down to the shrine where prayers were said, until finally families broke away to their own smaller celebrations. Or in Kazuya’s case, even larger, more formal celebrations. It looked like most of the Zaibatsu head staff were here, along with every important business associate Heihachi had in the country, and a few from even further.

Heihachi was talking his way through some speech next to him. Talking about the future of the Zaibatsu, talking about being proud, talking about the Mishima legacy. Kazuya found it all dull and empty. He didn’t miss the way his brother, Chaolan, hung on Heihachi’s every word with an almost fervent desperation. Even after all these years, his brother always wanted to believe in the Heihachi that was presented to the world and not the real man they got behind closed doors. Kazuya knew Chaolan would give anything for Heihachi to say the things he was saying about his Kazuya now about him. Kazuya could never understand his brother’s obsession with wanting those empty shells of words. It was all the same to him. It rang as hollow as this celebration.

“My dear son will one day inherit this great corporation, as I once inherited it from my father,” Heihachi was saying.

_Damn straight._ Kazuya thought, but not for the reasons most others were thinking it. Kazuya firmly believed Heihachi had killed his father and stolen the Zaibatsu from him. That was one legacy Kazuya would only be too happy to live up to.

“Until then he will work as my right hand.”

  
  
Kazuya felt like he’d been working under Heihachi’s right hand ever since he could walk. He’d felt it enough times that he was sure a second longer with it keeping him in line would drive him over the edge. He smiled stiffly though, since Heihachi had gestured to him.

As the speech droned on, Kazuya amused himself thinking about what he’d like to do to the pandering businessmen all sitting obediently, nodding along to Heihachi’s platitudes. He imagined the way their blood would splatter over the tatami and up the walls. An idle smile slid onto his face. He caught Chaolan looking at him, but didn’t school the expression. His brother knew him well enough to know he was dreaming up violent fantasies and not listening to a word their father was saying. Chaolan rolled his eyes. Kazuya gave a smirk.

“The first course will commence in just a few minutes. Until then, please speak freely, my son and I will only be absent momentarily.”

The smirk snapped off Kazuya’s face and his stomach plunged. His entire body stiffened. He could feel his brother’s eyes on him, anxious now. He avoided them. He turned his head and instead met his father’s. Heihachi’s face was ostensibly friendly, but his eyes were frigid. Kazuya suppressed a shiver.

Heihachi stood and the room bowed low to him. Kazuya bowed with them. His pulse was loud in his throat. He raked the tatami with his gaze trying to think through the last few minutes. He rose obediently and straightened his hakama. He took small respectable steps as he followed his father. His socks were quiet on the tatami. He could feel stares on his back. A screen door slid open. He stepped through after his father. Kazuya slid the door shut behind them. He was distinctly aware of the texture of the wood under his hands and the way the frame stained momentarily with a slight sweat from his fingertips. He took his time turning back around. When he did he kept his eyes lowered.

Heihachi grabbed his chin and forced his face upwards. Kazuya found himself backed into the wall under the strength of that grip. He tried not to wince at how tight it was. Heihachi’s eyes had narrowed until they were beads of black onyx, glittering in the dim light. His lip was twitching in anger, making the thick, black moustache that framed it even more fearsome.

“I haven’t done anything...” Kazuya said through gritted teeth, when the silence became too much to bear. Heihachi still kept just looking at him, holding his chin in place. Kazuya’s throat dried. He retraced his behaviour over the last hour or two, trying to find fault with it. “I even smiled for your damn business partners,” he spat around the hand clenching him in place. Heihachi’s silence was unnerving him so much now that some of his antagonism was coming undone. He sincerely hoped his father couldn’t feel the tremble that had entered his hands. He tried to keep up a stubborn front. “Are… are you going to tell me what I’ve done wrong or just glare at me until the food’s gone cold!?” Heihachi kept staring. Kazuya felt like he was five years old again. The longer he held eye contact, the smaller he felt. His insides squirmed and he swallowed. He at last dropped his gaze and slumped back against the wall, resigned to whatever punishment he was going to get anyway.

“Better,” Heihachi said, and released him.

Kazuya looked up at him warily, still pushed back as far into the wall as he could.

“I don’t appreciate your insolence,” Heihachi said. “You are still my son and as long as I live I will have your deference. You might be twenty years old on paper, but you will know your place and stay in it, or I will make you regret it. Is that understood?”

Kazuya’s face flickered with defiance, but it died down quickly. He nodded.

“Pardon?”

“Yes,” Kazuya bit off. Another icy silence. “Yes, _Father,_” Kazuya corrected, using the politest form of the word he so despised.

“Good boy. Now, you’re going to go back in there and smile nicely. You’re going to pay attention and stop smirking at your brother.”

Kazuya opened his mouth in protest, then shut it again and muttered under his breath.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Heihachi raised a hand. Kazuya flinched. Heihachi only tidied a stray hair out of his son’s face. Kazuya gritted his teeth at letting that inch of fear slip through his guard.

“It won’t be a problem,” he said, as calmly as he could.

“Good.” Heihachi’s hand dropped. “Now, let’s sort out that kimono. You wear it like a foreigner.”

Kazuya stood stiffly, submitting to let his attire be sorted out by his father. Heihachi somehow managed to make it a humiliating undertaking. Kazuya held himself still and tried not to show how much he was demeaned by the invasion as his kimono was corrected on his shoulders, the pleats in his hakama checked, the belt at his middle retied. By the time Heihachi was done, Kazuya was thoroughly dejected. His head hung, and his cheeks burned, and his eyes were lowered. Only his breathing remained incensed, like some slumbering dragon.

“Stand up straight.”

Kazuya did.

“Head up.”

Kazuya lifted his head.

“The Mishima legacy is on your shoulders. At least act like it.”

Oh he fully intended to. One day. Some day soon. Heihachi would eat those words as he choked on his own blood.

Kazuya re-entered the room in model fashion. His expression stayed clear and aloof, and his posture perfectly upright for the duration of the remaining formalities. He kept the dutiful silence that was expected of him and played the part of deferential-son-come-proud-Mishima perfectly. He barely tasted any of the expensive food he consumed. He bowed to his father when he received his first cup of sake from him and sipped at it before placing it at the low table before him. The lifeless charade continued until most formalities were done and the sake was flowing a little more freely.

Kazuya still didn’t dare enjoy himself. He picked at his food with a fine inlay set of chopsticks, turning them over in his hand so that the pearl enamel winked in the light. He nodded when another envelope was pushed onto his table by a bowing businessman. The man gave some formal murmurs of well-wishing before shuffling back to his seat and rejoining the now slightly louder revelries.

The food had been cleared away and the sake bottles refilled when Chaolan approached him. Kazuya mistook him at first for another of his father’s associates. It wasn’t until he saw the unsteady fingers hand him a different kind of envelope that he looked up and noticed his brother. His silvery hair had been combed out of his face earlier, but it had now slipped forward to give him something of a screen from the rest of the room. He looked out of place and uncomfortable in the dowdy dark kimono and hakama he was wearing. He bowed to Kazuya and offered him his envelope with both hands. Kazuya thought it might be the first bow in the whole evening that was truly for him and not Heihachi.

He received the envelope and opened it. Whatever was inside wasn’t money. He tipped two commercial airline tickets out into his palm. They were marked to Hokkaido for few weeks time. He frowned in confusion, then glanced Heihachi’s way.

“I got his permission,” Chaolan said quickly, reading Kazuya’s fears. “One of my university classes is going there for a field trip. It’s some kind of business excursion. But as they didn’t run the trip when you took the course, I asked Father if you could accompany me. I wanted to take you further away and for longer, but I was worried he’d say no...”

Kazuya held the tickets reverently, looking at their stamped dates and location.

“How long for?” he asked.

“Just three days...” Chaolan replied. He looked deflated.

Kazuya touched the tickets with hard, calloused fingers. He gave a small nod. He saw Chaolan breathe out a sigh of relief. He bowed again and made to return to his place.

“Chaolan,” Kazuya’s voice was quiet, but his brother paused immediately. Kazuya gave him a smile, appropriate for the occasion but brimming just beneath with warmth and gratitude. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever received.”

His brother became radiant. Confidence seeped into his usually anxious posture and he shook his hair out of his eyes. Chaolan gave a brilliant smile before he returned to his seat to sip his tea and watch the rest of the party.

Kazuya carefully slid the tickets back into their envelope and stored them in his kimono. This time when he reset his mask, his mind was far away on those three, glorious days his brother had given him, counting down the hours. Perhaps today was not such a terrible celebration after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A birthday gift for Cherry! Many thanks for all your support and reviews and I hope you have a great celebration (...better than Kazuya's....)


	14. Heihachi & Kazuya: POWER

Heihachi sat, looking over steepled hands at the delegation. They were all high up types in the Soviet Army, with titles nominally meant to throw off the shackles of rank. From the way the envoys kept glaring at one another though, each had their own idea of where they should come in the military hierarchy.

“Mr Mishima,” said one man who had glared the rest into submission.

He was a lanky, harrowed-looking man. Heihachi remembered him as the one who’d walked in in a leather overcoat so large and so heavily lined with fur, that he’d thought for a moment his pet bear had broken into the building again. He wondered if the servants back at the estate were feeding his precious Kuma with the right fish this time. His bear deserved only the finest freshly caught fish, not fish that had been on ice for a few days. It had been a disgraceful incident, and that servant had fully deserved to feel Kuma’s righteous anger. His poor baby probably felt ill after the-

“Mr Mishima,” the man said again, just a fraction impatiently. Heihachi’s eyes swivelled back to the speaker. When their eyes met, the man continued. “Your contract is much appreciated, and the programming your company offers is very good value. But we must insist on the exclusivity of the programs being sold. We cannot have this programming fall, for example, into American hands.”

Heihachi sat back. He opened a draw in his desk and pulled out an ornate carved wooden box. He slid back a the lid, patterned with an enamel inlay. He drew out a large fat Cuban cigar. He didn’t really smoke all that much, but it was good for effect. Especially for presumptuous, jumped-up officials, who spoke to him like he was just any other business CEO.

He lit the cigar slowly and deliberately. Then he put it to his lips and drew in a long puff. He exhaled the smoke out the corners of his mouth, so that it furled like a dragon’s moustache. Heihachi tapped his cigar on a solid gold ash tray. He watched the way everyone in the room followed the movement. He watched as in each of their eyes, little seeds of self-doubt started to sprout.

“There will be no exclusivity rights,” Heihachi said lazily. All the envoys stiffened in their uniforms. “In fact, I have plans to meet the Americans this afternoon to sell them the software I made for you.” He didn’t have any plans of the sort. His plans this afternoon involved visiting an old onsen that had recently been refurbished. He would be having a private visit before it officially opened to the public. The Americans didn’t even know about the new line of military robots being built in the Soviet Union yet, but instilling paranoia went a long way in making good business deals.

“Y-you-!” The officer who’d spoken jumped out of his chair. It clattered to the ground behind him. “H-how _dare _you!”

The rest of the officers followed suit, all leaping out of their seats in mirrored indignation. The first officer pulled off a pair of black leather gloves and threw them down on the table.

“You may mock us, Mr Mishima, but you should know who you are messing with! Every man in here has won medals in the service of his country! We represent the most powerful country on the planet, and we will not pay a single ruble for that software until you sign it exclusively to us!”

Heihachi looked at the affronted emissaries through dull, heavy eyes. He sucked on the end of his cigar again.

“You’re sure you won’t reconsider?” His voice was mild, in a way that might almost seem friendly.

“Absolutely not!” the officer blustered. His pale cheeks were red with anger and Heihachi could see a vein throbbing in his forehead.

Heihachi sighed, then stamped his cigar out in the ash tray. He picked up a phone from his desk.

“Send Kazuya through,” he said to the secretary on the other end.

A few minutes later, there was a barely respectable rap on the door.

  
  
“Enter.” Heihachi frowned for the first time that morning as he said that.

His son slouched in. His suit managed to hang off his frame like it hadn’t been tailor made for him. His tie was an inch too far from his collar and the tail of his shirt was untucked. A half-smoked cigarette dangled from his lips. He had an expression like he was bored out of his mind. He gave Heihachi a bow that bore more resemblance to a drunken lurch than it did a bow.

Heihachi’s lips pursed and his eyes narrowed. His son dodged his gaze until the silence finally made him reluctantly look up. Kazuya gave an involuntary huff. He came over and stubbed his cigarette out in the golden ash tray. He paused to admire the barely smoked, expensive cigar. He smoothed back a strand of hair that had escaped and stood straighter.

“You called for me,” Kazuya said. There was a fraction of grudging deference in his tone now, as he sought to head off the argument his appearance had all but ignited between them.

Heihachi kept his eyes on his son a moment longer before he reached for a neat set of papers on his desk.

“This is a revised agreement that the Soviet government has proposed that I sign. It promises that the software that the Mishima Zaibatsu developed for their JACK units will be sold exclusively to the Soviet Union and nowhere else. What do you think of that, my son?”

Kazuya took a moment. He looked between the pages and then up at the men in the room. Then he took the papers in hand and tore them in half.

“What are you doing!?” the Russian officer exclaimed.

“They’re promising not to pay us a thing before I sign,” Heihachi continued in that calm, confident tone. “What do you think of that, my son?”

Kazuya looked at him now. His dark eyes were eager and full of hope. Heihachi gave him a fractional nod. Kazuya’s face split open in a grin that bared his teeth. He bowed deeply to Heihachi, then shrugged out of his blazer and tossed it over the desk.

“Mr Mishima!” the Russian officer snarled, though some of his compatriots were looking wary now. Kazuya’s slouch and jacket had done much to hide what was now clearly a man in his physical prime. The wild look he was giving everyone in the room was causing some to take a few steps back.

Heihachi stood. He dusted down invisible creases from his tiger skin longcoat as he stepped out from behind his desk.

“Play nicely now, Kazuya.” He clipped his son’s chin with a finger. Kazuya jerked away from the touch. Heihachi laughed. “No bodies, alright?”

The dawning terror on the faces of the officers gave Heihachi such a deep satisfaction. It was almost as fulfilling as watching his son standing with burning, pent-up aggression, waiting for the second he would let him unleash hell. Kazuya was always near breaking point these days. Heihachi had long decided it was wise to find a way to get some of that out of his system and point it firmly in another direction.

Heihachi made it to the door, before turning around.

“Ah, one last thing. Almost forgot.”

Kazuya’s fingers were trembling with anticipation. The officers were all still struck dumb, in various stages of personal horror as they realised what was happening.

Heihachi returned to his desk and picked up the gold ash tray.

“This was a good cigar I had to interrupt.” He put the cigar in his mouth.

There was silence in the room. All eyes were on him. No one dared to move. Then there was a click of an irritated tongue. Kazuya felt down the jacket he tossed onto the desk and found a lighter. He stepped up to Heihachi and lit his cigar for him with a special kind of malevolent hatred. Heihachi smiled once the cigar was lit. He held up his golden ashtray to the room.

“And I’ll take this too. I like it. It was a gift from the American president. I’d hate to get blood on it.”

Heihachi left his office and drew the door firmly shut behind him. His secretary looked up at him warily. Heihachi’s air of grandiosity immediately left him. He tossed the ashtray onto his secretary’s desk with a heavy clunk.

“Keep it.” He had to repeat this twice to be heard over the sounds of furniture smashing behind him and screams bleeding through the walls.

He stubbed the cigar out and left it in the ashtray too. He hated the damn things, he decided. He checked his pocket watch. It was coming up on the hour to visit that onsen. He liked the sound of a relaxing bath right about now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> probably still some typos lurking in here somewhere, but I'll catch them another day. I was cutting up onions this evening when I wondered if Kazuya and Heihachi ever saw eye to eye, and what Kazuya's role would have been in the Zaibatsu prior to the first Iron Fist Tournament.


	15. Kazuya & Kazumi: HUNGRY

The summer heat was liquid in the air and made the mountains move like murky mirages. The house had been opened up, with all the walls slid open to let what breeze there was flow through the building. The bright sound of birds chirruping was loud about them even though they sat in the heart of the house. Kazuya kept his eyes lowered and fixed on his food. His father sat opposite him. Apart from the two of them and the birds outside, nothing else sounded alive.

His father’s chopsticks clicked on his bowl, making it ring and Kazuya flinch. Kazuya kept carefully looking down, knowing the reaction would have been seen. He took a small pinch of sticky rice between his chopsticks and dipped it in a bowl of soy sauce before poking it into his mouth. He had been training all morning and was hungry, but didn’t want to eat all his rice.

“The food not good enough for you now?” Heihachi said. His voice always sounded too loud to Kazuya’s ears. Kazuya didn’t look up.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly.

“What then, I didn’t work you hard enough this morning?”

Kazuya’s insides tensed and curled. He’d trained so much today that his legs had begun to shake and been close to crumbling. Heihachi must have seen the panic his words induced, because he laughed his slow booming laugh.

Kazuya said nothing, and continued his fractional picking at the rice. When the servants came to clear away their meal shortly after, Kazuya swiped his rice bowl, hoping the sleeve of his yukata would cover the gesture. He glanced up at the servant. They seemed so intent on not making too much noise in front of Heihachi, that they didn’t noticed there was one less bowl to clear away.

Kazuya afforded himself a small breath of relief. Then he saw his father’s face.

There was no mistaking that look. Those piercing eyes and hard, weathered features had, without a doubt, seen the act. Kazuya paled. He held his father’s gaze with trepidation. His eyes were wide and his throat had dried. Then a strange thing happened.

Kazuya had been expecting the table to be overturned, to be picked up by the front of his clothes so that his toes dangled in the air, while spittle flew in his face as Heihachi roared at him. Instead his father slapped his knees and stood. He turned so that his back was to Kazuya.

“I will be at Hon-Maru this afternoon. Stay out of my way.”

He padded away over the tatami, crossing the other rooms until he reached the veranda. He slipped into his heavy geta sandals. Kazuya could hear them clacking away up the path as Heihachi strode away towards the family temple.

Kazuya lost no time pondering his good fortune. As soon as he refound his breath he snatched up his contraband rice and slunk off to his room. Once there, he rolled all the walls shut. It was quieter now, a little darker, and more stuffy. He set the bowl down and got onto his stomach. He took out a set of four books from the lowest shelf of his bookshelf. At the back was a grainy photograph. Kazuya had torn Heihachi out of it, and now just his mother looked back out at him from the empty-looking frame. He set the half-eaten bowl of rice in front of it. Then he pulled a little cup from out of his sleeve that he’d stolen earlier. He poured a measure of water from a bottle into it. He set the cup next to the rice bowl in front of the photograph.

Today was Obon. Kazuya knew that if anyone was a hungry ghost, it was his mother. Ever since his mother had been killed three years ago, he had tried to set the rice for her each year. He hadn’t been caught yet, even though he had been sure Heihachi had seen him taking a cup from the cabinet this time last year, and the year before that, he’d spilled rice on the tatami in his room, and the servants who cleaned it up were sure to have told his father.

Kazuya wasn’t really sure what a hungry ghost was, but he knew it meant his mother was restless and not at peace. Kazuya liked to think that instead of going to a proper place, that might mean she had stayed here, waiting for her rice to eat, or whatever it was ghosts did. He liked to think maybe his mother had wanted to stay close by to look after her son. Hungry ghosts were supposed to be frightening, but Kazuya used to dream of seeing one. He’d stay up late on all the days of the year where the dead and evil were meant to be ill at ease, in case he saw her. He dreamed of demons watching over him. He dreamed that maybe they’d stretch out their clawed fingers one day and catch Heihachi’s fist before it could descend.

Kazuya propped his chin on his hands as he lay on his stomach and looked at the photo. Clouds outside somewhere scudded over the sky and dimly changed the room through the paper walls into a patchwork of shadows. He didn’t know if there were right words to say. He knew there was a dance, but he definitely didn’t know that. He hoped the rice and water would be enough.

A sudden gust of wind rattled at the summer shutters. Kazuya shivered, despite the warmth. He looked hopefully at the hidden shrine. He glanced over his shoulder to double check he was alone. He clapped his hands together like they did at the Buddhist shrines in the village.

“Dear mother, I think you are hungry, please eat the rice.”

He checked over his shoulder again, and added in a fierce whisper,

“But not too much because I don’t want you to leave and go to the place where ghosts rest.”

He wondered if that was a bad prayer. It probably was. He could imagine his mother telling him not to ask for such selfish things. He frowned and decided he ought to at least explain himself.

“I know you should go and be at peace, but I don’t think it’s fair for you to go yet. I need you here and I don’t have anyone else. I know it’s a bad thing to want the hungry ones to stay, but lots of things are bad and why should I be the only one doing the right thing.”

He sat up and brushed his eyes quickly. He felt a pang of guilt when his hand came away wet with tears. He looked over his shoulder again even though he knew he was alone. The tears worried him so much that he went and hid in the corner behind the bookshelf where he couldn’t be seen from the doorway. He stayed there whilst he got himself under control and banished those treacherous tears. He wiped his face fiercely on his yukata. He leaned forward and checked his room.

It was still empty. Still silent. Still all strips of tatami, a stale shade of beige in the stunted sun.

He crawled back to the shrine and crossed his legs and clapped his hands for another prayer.

“Dear mother, if you are a hungry ghost please haunt the house, and please haunt the dojo, and please haunt the dinner table, and please haunt my bedroom. Please frighten away all the things that are frightening and please, please kill Heihachi. I was going to do it myself, but it will take me a really long time because I am too small, so I would please like you to do it.”

“Kill Heihachi? Is that any way to honour your ancestors, Kazuya?” The voice didn’t really surprise Kazuya, or concern him. His mother looked strange in the shadowy room, like someone had taken her photograph and turned all the colours inside out. Her hair was white and her kimono was black, but Kazuya didn’t mind. He thought for a long moment before replying.

“Why should I honour any ancestors?” He looked at his mother with sullen, dark eyes. “They never did anything worth being honoured for.”

His mother gave him a look. Kazuya looked away and twisted his hands together guiltily.

“I was honouring you,” he muttered. “I saved you my rice and gave you water...”

She touched his chin. It was like a chill of air against his skin. Kazuya looked up at her. Her eyes were red and there were red lines down her chalk white face. She smiled at him. When Kazuya saw her smile, he flung his arms around her and held tight. It wasn’t quite real. More like hugging a buffeting current of wind – something there but not quite there. That didn’t matter to Kazuya. A cold, airy hand came up and traced through his hair, stroking him gently.

Kazuya shivered at the touch and felt like he was melting with gratitude at its tenderness. His tears immediately jumped back into his eyes. He blinked them away furiously.

“It’s alright,” his mother said. Kazuya shook his head. “No one can see. You don’t have to hide.”

“Soon I will stop crying.” His voice was muffled against her, but not like a voice is by fabric, more like how an echo is lost in empty hallways. “Soon I won’t ever cry again. I am already good at it. Sometimes in my room it comes, but apart from that it’s almost all gone.”

“You’re very brave, Kazuya.”

Kazuya smiled at that and gave a long sigh.

“You should make sure to eat your rice,” Kazuya said, after a bit.

“Hmm, I thought you told me not to eat it, something like – I must stay and haunt the dinner table. Being a table doesn’t sound like much fun. Not when somebody dribbles sauce on it.” She tickled him and he laughed and wriggled, then settled with his head in her lap looking up at her with adoring eyes.

“If you eat all the rice, will you go away and be full and happy?” he asked.

“Perhaps,” she said. “Is that what you want?”

As Kazuya lay in her lap and thought, she idly combed his hair with her fingers.

“I don’t want you to suffer.”

“Even if it means you are alone here?”

There was another long silence. Kazuya held onto the hem of her black kimono. It flowed through is fingers like a fine mist.

“I am strong. I can do anything. I won’t ever give up. Even when I’m afraid, I don’t let anyone know. And I am good at my karate. I only have to wait a bit more. Years are a long time, but even if I am slow at growing up, I am fast at growing up in here.” He touched his chest. “I would like to have hungry ghost to look after me, but it is better not to rely on anyone other than yourself.”

His mother kissed him lightly on his forehead.

“You should eat your rice now, mother,” he said. He frowned and looked up at her, “I just have one question before you do.” Her eyes were like bright gemstones, all scarlet and ethereal. “Does Heihachi leave rice for you at Hon-Maru?”

Her smile was soft, but disappearing at the edges. The shadows in her face were all flattening as the sun came out from behind a cloud.

“Kazuya, you know I can’t answer that.”

Kazuya nodded.

A moment later, he was lying on the tatami. The heavy glow of afternoon sun filled up the room like a little red oven. There were no more shadows and no more ghosts. He sat up.

When he reached for the rice bowl, he made sure to shut his eyes so that he could not see if it was full or empty. He set it by the door with the cup. The servants would tell Heihachi, but Kazuya didn’t care. Heihachi could do as he wished, up until the day when he couldn’t. That would be the day Kazuya was strong enough to change things.

He slid the books back into the bottom of the bookshelf, hiding the photograph once more. Then he rolled back the outer walls so that the sun poured into his bedroom. He stood strong and stubborn and fierce and curled his hands into fists. No more tears. No more rice. From here on, he only looked forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I'll write something that isn't sad Kazuya stories.


	16. Kazuya & Jun: FEAR

“What do you know of fear?”

Jun sighed. She turned over, shuffling the cover as she did. She propped herself up on an elbow and looked at Kazuya. He was just shades of shadow in the deep dark.

“I know that it’s worse at night,” she said gently. She reached out and stroked back his hair. He was hot, maybe even feverish. It was a common occurrence these days, since the news that Heihachi lived.

“It’s not.” She paused when he said that. She could see the silhouette of his pointed features by the lingering light that leaked through the shutters. “At night, it becomes trivial, like a child’s nightmare. It can be set aside, like a phantasm. But in the day… how can you set aside what your rational mind knows to be fact, to be instinct, to have been learned over and over by the hard lessons of a lifetime?”

Jun stroked his hair again.

“You let him control you, Kazuya. You-”

“I know that!” He snapped. She could hear by his breathing that he immediately regretted that. His voice softened. “But what can I do? He will come for revenge. He will come and I will fall. I can feel it. I am splintered in many directions. To defeat him I have to be whole, I have to be iron, I have to be master over every fraction of myself.”

“If you’re so sure you will fail, why hold this tournament?”

“For the show of it. So that he believes I never doubted for a second. So that he believes I am fearless. So that he believes I was never afraid of him and what was coming.”

“Kazuya-”

“If I’m going to go down, it will be in – fucking – glorious flames. The greatest fight the world ever saw. My name will be on the lips of millions. Like a shooting star in the sky. ‘Wasn’t he bright – that Mishima Kazuya – as he fell. Wasn’t it the most magnificent thing you saw – that brief fire.’”

There was silence in the velvet night. Blue shadows hung about the room. The lights of the city moved as ghosts passing through the cracks in the shutters.

“Let it all go,” Jun whispered. She cupped his face with her hand and turned him towards her. His skin was rough – hot but with a sheen of sweat to it. “Run away with me. Let it go, Kazuya.”

“There’s nowhere I can run that he won’t follow, or I would have run long ago. And besides, give him the satisfaction? Not a chance. I will make him sweat and bleed and scream for his victory. His bones will be shattered and his breath in pieces and his pride in tatters for all the world to see.”

She said nothing, because she wondered what picture of him she’d have to endure seeing if that was to be Heihachi’s victory.

“If this is your choice, and you’ve made peace with what is to come, then why all the fear? What are you afraid of?”

“Peace?!” Kazuya rolled onto his side. His eyes were black coals. Only a wink of light catching them showed that they weren’t just holes. “You think I’m at peace with this? I don’t want to die! Who the fuck wants to die!? Not dying has been my principal goal since… well, for a long time. When are you going to understand, that just because I talk like this, doesn’t mean that inside I’m not… I’m not-…”

“Afraid,” she finished. She enclosed his hand in hers. “Come here.”

He shuffled close and rested his forehead against her shoulder. She combed her fingers back through his hair. He closed his eyes and pressed nearer, until her warmth and smell and touch was his whole world.

“The choices we make set us on paths, and we cannot know where they will end. We cannot know what will bring death, and whether it will come in a week’s time, or fifteen years’ time, or at some point in the distant future. All we can do is choose, and stand strong in those choices, and live with our fullest being. You do not know what will happened at this tournament. If that is truly the path you wish to take, choose it with all of yourself and do not linger on what might have been. Some days, when the bird is in the eye of the hawk, lightening strikes, and the hawk misses its mark. There are more things in play in the balance of the world than strength and might.”

Kazuya stirred in her arms. His voice came muffled through the embrace.

“Heihachi’s a hawk who wouldn’t miss in a fucking thunderstorm.”

Jun kissed forehead.

“Do not live for one moment, Kazuya. Do not live your life waiting for what may or may not happen. To live in fear is no life at all.”

“Been working just fine for me so far,” he muttered.

“Is hasn’t all been fear,” she murmured into his hair.

“No…”

“You were just starting to learn how to live.”

“Yes…”

He stayed quiet and close, listening to the distant sounds of traffic somewhere out in the cool night air.

“You think there can be a lightening strike for me? You think I might be able to win the tournament?”

“I think the future is always uncertain, but we do what we have to anyway.”

“Really cheering me on here, Kazama.”

Jun drew back a little, enough that she could tilt his chin to look up at her.

“You know I’m not going to cheer you on. I’ve told you what I think of this fight, and your pride, and your revenge. But your choice is your own. I will stand by you, until the very end.”

“Is this the end?”

Jun held him and said nothing. Kazuya knew then that he was going to die, but for the first time, he wasn’t so frightened by the prospect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said the next one would be happy, but I've thinking a lot about worried Kazuya recently.  
This one was inspired by an RP with [ThalieXVII](https://www.inkitt.com/Thaliexvii). I imagine it set some time shortly after Zen Gardens of the Heart.


	17. Heihachi: LION

Kazuya turned to Chaolan.

“Fix it, please.” That he added a ‘please’ betrayed something of his agitation. That Chaolan then stepped up and straightened the tie without question also betrayed some of his. Chaolan did the knot up a little tighter and fixed Kazuya’s collar. His eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“What?” Kazuya’s voice had an edge to it, that some might mistake for aggression, but Chaolan knew to be anxiety. Chaolan reached up and brushed a stray hair back into the neat gel Kazuya had shaped the rest into. Kazuya’s face flicked to irritation, but he held his tongue and temper. He even gave a brief nod of thanks. “Alright. Let me do the talking. Stay behind me.”

“He’s calmer when I speak to him. I should be the one to talk.” Chaolan was beginning to hone the art of appearing serene even in adverse situations.

“We’ve been over this. Not when it’s something you want. He’ll see through you. If I do it, he might still let you go even if he says no to me, just to spite me. And I don’t give a damn about it, so all I have to do is pretend to care.”

A little of Chaolan’s serenity drained away, but he nodded in agreement.

“Address him as ‘father’, please, Kazuya. Or you will irritate him before you start.” Kazuya’s face heated up like boiling pot. Chaolan touched his arm. Kazuya’s fierce eyebrows came down like iron gates, but he closed his eyes and gave a heavy sigh that Chaolan knew to be resignation.

Heihachi was playing shogi in the gardens with Wang Jinrei. White and pink cherry blossom stood out in his glossy dark hair, and against his black gi. Jinrei was examining the board, face deep in a frown as his appraised his situation. Heihachi poured himself tea from a side table set up nearby. One of his eyebrows raised as his sons approached him. He watched them with open amusement on his face.

Kazuya seethed behind the expression of careful deference that he wore. He bowed low to Heihachi. Chaolan did likewise, but hung a few paces back.

“Father,” Kazuya began, earning a smirk from Heihachi, who knew how much his son hated to acknowledge the relation. “There is a to be a formal event held at our school this evening. May we have your permission to attend?”

Heihachi sipped his tea in silence. He made a show of slowly placing it back on the table. Jinrei’s interest in the shogi board had become perhaps slightly too all-consuming, as he extracted himself from any pretence at interference in family business.

“And what kind of event might that be, Kazuya?” Heihachi fixed his son with his hawk-like eyes. Kazuya tried to meet them evenly and without showing any weakness.

“It’s a dance…, Sir.”

“A dance.” Heihachi let the word drawl out. “Do you like dancing, Kazuya?”

Kazuya didn’t miss a beat. “I adore dancing.” He stared Heihachi down. They warred with each other in silence. The only sound was the clack of a shogi piece as Jinrei finally made his move. Heihachi broke eye contact with Kazuya in order to look down at the board. He moved one of his own pieces in return, and Jinrei made a noise of dismay.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to deprive you of your quality dance time, Kazuya,” Heihachi said, almost carelessly. “Since you’re so enthusiastic about it, of course you may go. But your brother’s heart doesn’t really seem to be in the request, and his kata weren’t up to standard this morning, so he can remain here and practice them in the dojo.”

“You b-!” Kazuya stepped forward with a snarl, Chaolan caught his arm and pulled him back.

“Father, I really would like to go too,” Chaolan put in, trying to rescue the situation they both already knew was hopeless.

“I have a spare hour at 7 PM, where I will come and personally monitor your training this evening, Chaolan,” Heihachi said. He continued watching Jinrei agonising over the boardgame.

“I’ll do the fucking training in his stead!” Kazuya snapped.

“No.” Heihachi looked up, still infuriatingly calm. “You’re going dancing, Kazuya. Go and get changed.”

Chaolan turned away in deflated defeat, his shoulders sinking in despair. Kazuya bristled like wildcat in a cage. His eyes were like fire, burning into Heihachi’s own. Kazuya spat on the ground, then turned and stalked off. Chaolan hurried to catch up with him.

“That boy will kill you some day.” Jinrei said quietly. He kept his gaze lowered and on the wooden pieces before him. He moved a piece to threaten one of Heihachi’s.

Heihachi laughed. “I’m counting on it.”

Jinrei stared at him.

Heihachi gave a smirk. “Not just anyone can inherit the Mishima Zaibatsu. My legacy will be in worthy hands. Kazuya will rule the Zaibatsu after me with an iron fist. He embodies the pinnacle of my teachings. He is my finest creation.” Jinrei kept staring at him. Heihachi let out another booming laugh. “You seem surprised, old man! I know what I’m doing. I have forged Kazuya out of fire. He is as much my legacy as the Zaibatsu is.”

“… Heihachi…” Jinrei’s words took on a cautious, reprimanding tone. “You cannot be serious. You’ve raised that boy to hate you. He has violence in his eyes. And his eyes are set on you.”

“My dear Jinrei,” Heihachi began. He said it in that slow way of saying things he often took, where it was clear he had no affection for you at all, and instead considered you to be quite stupid. As he did, he moved one of his pieces to capture Jinrei’s. “What do you know about lions?”

Jinrei’s look went hollow. He returned his attention to the board. “I know that people are not lions...”

Heihachi waved away the answer. “There can only be one ruler of a pride of lions. The dominant male leads his pack and chases away all other males ruthlessly. The ruler wishes all cubs born in the pride to be his own, and yet, when they come of age, he even ruthlessly chases these out if they are male. A pair of brothers, for example, will be ostracised from the pride. They will remain in the wilderness until they have the strength to challenge a dominant male for his place at the head of the pride.” Heihachi sat back and stroked his chin in thought. “Ah, how understandable the dilemma of the lion is! To desire legacy, but to desire that power for himself until the very second he can no longer hold it! I wonder if, as he lets those male cubs be raised, he thinks to himself – I hope one of these will be the one to usurp me – let it be one of mine that has the sheer power and strength to succeed me. Only the lion truly understands legacy!”

Jinrei’s eyes were cold. He’d moved enough pieces to now be able to manoeuvre his gold general into a good position. He pushed the piece forward. “Like I said, Heihachi. People are not lions.”

“The average person is not a lion. The average person is some game to be devoured. Some… what do lions eat? Antelope? Yes, you are all antelopes.” Heihachi leaned forward. With that gold general out of the way, it was a simple matter of sliding his rook in to trap Jinrei’s king in amidst the stuffy back lines of his own forces. He let the piece clack down as he made the final checkmate. “But the _Mishimas_ are lions.”

Heihachi stood and shook the cherry blossom out of his hair. He gave a wolfish grin, then he meandered off into his gardens with his hands clasped behind his back, humming some old tune to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not all lions behave like that, but I guess Heihachi watched the same David Attenborough episode I did.   
In the original canon, Heihachi yeets Kaz off that cliff just to see if he's strong enough to climb back up and be worthy of becoming his successor. He sets in stone his demise whilst also forging a successor in his own image.  
both Kaz and I are pretty upset that Lee didn't get to go to his dance. all 12 of the people Lee promised to go with are probably pretty devasted at being stood up as well.


	18. Heihachi & Jin: TIRED

Heihachi closed the laptop he’d been using, plunging the room into a welcome darkness after the bright, artificial light. He got up and stretched. Bones clicked somewhere and he heaved a heavy yawn. He padded across the tatami and switched on a light. He got out a pocket watch. It was late. His staff knew he didn’t like to be disturbed whilst he was working. A servant came up to him now that he was done.

“Mr Mishima, there is a meal ready for you, where would you like to take it?”

“Mm… In the fire room. Did Jin come back? I didn’t hear him.”

“Yes, sir. He’s in his room.”

The boy was very quiet. Much quieter than Chaolan or Kazuya had been at his age. The two of them had charged around like bulls, making as much noise as possible to irritate him, he had always been sure. It was around sixteen when Chaolan had started playing insufferably loud music from his room at all hours, whilst Kazuya would pile up slates outside the door of his Heihachi’s favourite study and ‘practice’ breaking them with his knife-hand strike just when Heihachi most wanted to concentrate. No matter what he did to punish them, they seemed to have some new innovative scheme to give him a headache. But Jin was quieter than a circada in winter.

Heihachi went to his grandson’s room and rapped his knuckles on the wooden frame twice before sliding open the door. The boy leapt up when he saw him and bowed deeply.

Heihachi had given him Kazuya’s old room. He couldn’t say why. Maybe because it looked right, seeing someone who looked so like his son back in that room. Maybe because Kazuya was gone forever, and the room would never be used again. It wasn’t like Chaolan would ever be coming back either, but some part of Heihachi still felt uncomfortable with the idea of repurposing his other son’s room. He shrugged off the thought. The Mishima Estate was enormous: he simply hadn’t gotten around to knocking through the walls of rooms belonging to those treacherous sons. And besides, neither of them were sons to him now anyway.

He realised Jin was still bowing to him. A book was open on the low wooden desk, along with a pad of paper covered in neat handwriting. A single lamp filled the room with a soft glow.

“What’s that? Your homework?”

“Yes, Grandfather.” Jin looked up at him now. Heihachi saw Kazuya’s eyes. For a moment Heihachi felt fury. Then he saw the rest – the agitation, the trust, the gentler anxieties that Kazuya would never have let him see.

“Have you eaten?”

“No, Grandfather.”

Heihachi frowned. “You know you may go to the kitchens and ask for your dinner whenever you wish?”

“Yes.” Jin bowed again. “But I wasn’t sure if you wished me to eat with you this evening. I did not want to be rude.”

“Hmm, but, Boy, it’s nearly 11 PM! Come, we shall get you something to eat.” Heihachi gestured for Jin to join him. “Is your schoolwork going well?”

Jin wasn’t good at lying. His nose would go a little pink, and his eyebrows would twitch, and Heihachi could always see his eyes shifting off to one side.

“…I-… it-…” Eventually Jin gave up the attempted fabrication. He kept his gaze on the floor. “I will improve.”

Heihachi clicked as a servant passed them further ahead, and indicated that a second meal should also be prepared.

“Hmm… School not a strong suit of yours?” Heihachi asked, returning his attention to Jin. He saw the boy suck in a breath, then turn those devastatingly innocent eyes to him again.

“It-… It’s hard for me, but I will make you proud, Grandfather. It’s just a lot to learn, but I promise I will improve.”

Heihachi was troubled. He said nothing as he slid open the door to the fire room. The central square pit had already been lit, and glowing charcoal shone like brilliant gems in amidst last night’s ash. Heihachi sat himself down cross-legged and patted a cushion next to him. Jin knelt formally on it.

“What is it you have trouble with?”

Jin stared into the fire. There was a silence so long that Heihachi wondered if the boy had heard him. When Jin finally turned to him, there were tears brimming in his eyes. Heihachi’s chest clenched.

“I haven’t ever been to school before… So… I have trouble with everything. But I’m working hard to get better – I’m working hard to improve.”

Heihachi wasn’t sure what to say. There had been times when Chaolan looked at him like that, with the need for reassurance in his eyes. It all seemed so long ago now. In the past, he had had the energy to be vindictive and cruel to push those boys to achieve what he believed to be their potential. But Jin… The boy already pushed himself, working every hour to repay the debt he seemed to feel he owed Heihachi. And sometimes Heihachi was tired, and filled with misgivings over things that had happened and now couldn’t change. Before Jin had arrived, Heihachi had spent many nights in this cold, old home, filled with ghosts and silence.

“You work very hard,” Heihachi told him. He reached out a finger and nudged Jin’s chin with it. “Keep up that dedication, and maybe someday it’ll be you running the Mishima Zaibatsu.”

Jin’s pearly tears collected on his eyelashes as he gave a sniff and a smile at the encouragement. He wiped some of his tears away with the heel of his palm. A second later, Heihachi was blinking like an owl. Jin had laid his head down on his knee and curled up next to him. Heihachi’s hand went to his chest to rub the scar Kazuya had given him. It itched before a storm, or when his conscience was troubled.

He looked down at the boy and for once did not see either of his sons. It was just Jin. Jin who was so different to anyone else in Heihachi’s life. Heihachi rested his hand on Jin’s head, and stroked his hair gently. The boy’s shoulders deflated like a weight was shedding from them. Jin’s eyes flickered closed.

“Dinner will arrive soon,” Heihachi said softly.

Jin said nothing. His chest rose and fell more steadily.

When the food did arrive, Heihachi didn’t look up. He was entranced by the child sleeping on his knee, with all his trust laid bare to the world. Heihachi drew his hand away. As he did, he looked at how large it was next to the boy’s face. His brow twitched. He remembered a face even smaller than this. So small.

It had been like this once. There had been this trust. A long time ago. A very long time ago.

“Kazuya…” Heihachi murmured. Jin stirred.

Heihachi stayed still and let Jin sleep, even though the steaming rice on the table was going cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicating this one to Aleksey, who's gentler Heihachi inspired this one.


	19. Jin & Hwoarang: FRIEND

“Hell, I knew you’d rock up here like three years was yesterday!”

Hwoarang’s hand slammed Jin’s locker door shut like he was some jock off a high school movie. Jin threw him a brooding glare from the depths of his hood. The intensity went out of his gaze a second later though.

“What have you done to your hair?!”

Hwoarang ran a hand over the shaved short back and sides.

“Chin up, Kazama, it’ll grow back nice ‘n’ pretty soon enough.”

“It looks terrible.”

“Yeah? And what’s this? You finally find the 2000s ten years too late?” Hwoarang gestured at the loud hoodie with its roaring flame motifs picked out in gaudy, shiny gold.

Jin blew his fringe out of his face. He folded his arms and leant against the locker, his eyes flicked over Hwoarang. Hwoarang felt a flutter of agitation. He moved to block line of site to the bag he’d dumped on the changing room bench, but Jin was too quick in his observations.

“The army, huh?”

Hwoarang shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“Yeah, what of it?”

Jin fixed him with a stare that Hwoarang was sure went right through to his soul.

“They make you join up?” Jin asked.

Hwoarang felt painfully seen. He shrugged in an effort to appear casual.

“What, you think just because I’m some unruly street kid, I ain’t the type to sign up unprompted?” Jin kept looking at him with eyes that said that was exactly what he thought. Hwoarang expelled a puff of air. He walked in a small circle and scratched the back of his head. “Yeah.” He finally relented. “They made me join up right after the last tournament. It was meant to be a year and a half, but they made me a fucking sergeant.”

“They promoted you?!”

“I know, right? I gave them so much cheek I thought for sure they’d give me the boot, but they went and gave me a command instead.” Hwoarang passed a tongue over his lips. He sat down heavily on the bench beside his khaki rucksack. He looked up at Jin. “I looked for you after the last tournament…” Jin hid his hands in his pockets. His hood shadowed his features. Hwoarang watched him carefully. “You run from your gramps or something?”

A pause. Jin gave a curt nod. There was more in there. A world of secrets and hurt. Hwoarang wanted to ask, but wasn’t sure how.

“The army know you’re here?” Jin asked before Hwoarang could get his question formed.

“…No.”

“Can they get you for that?”

“Yeah…”

“What’re you looking at?”

“Up to ten years hard labour, I think. Not sure. Depends how they read it. I heard you can get the court martial if you’re extra lucky.” Hwoarang gave a nervous laugh and drove his hand back through his short hair. Jin came over and sat next to him. “Better make this fight worth it, Kazama.” Hwoarang grinned. It was tapered with the weight of things that had come to pass since they’d last met. Jin was quiet. The silence made Hwoarang agitated. “Can’t be easy to hide from Mishima Heihachi of all people. Where you been hiding out?”

“… Australia.”

“No way! Look at you, getting all cultured and travelling!”

“I didn’t see much of it. I was trying to avoid his detection.”

The tournament changing room was empty and full of long shadows. It felt like a place disconnected from time. It could have been three years ago, or nowhere at all: a kind of liminal bus stop in amidst the pandemonium of their lives.

“What happened between you? Last time, you had nothing but respect for the old man.”

The Mishima Zaibatsu CEO had always made Hwoarang uneasy. He exuded that aura of wealth and power that made Hwoarang feel like an insect. He remembered when he’d first seen grandfather and grandson with their circle of Tekken Force bodyguards strolling through the streets of Busan. They were the sort to not even notice the goads of a brash urchin looking to brawl for cash. Jin hadn’t had the eyes that aristocracy usually have though. He’d looked straight at him with the kind of defiance that set Hwoarang’s blood tingling. That fight had made him feel alive in a way that nothing since had.

He didn’t miss the uncomfortable prickle in Jin’s response now. He got no further reply.

“That bad, huh?” Hwoarang filled the silence for them both. Jin never seemed to mind them, but Hwoarang found silences oppressive. “Seems we both got our fair share of problems. Oh to be nineteen again, eh?”

Jin leaned forward where he sat. His arms rested on his knees. His fingers twisted together. He looked down at them. The burden on his shoulders looked so heavy just then, that Hwoarang barely recognised the young man next to him.

“Heihachi tried to kill me.”

Hwoarang sat bolt upright. “He _what_?!” Jin’s head stayed bowed. Hwoarang punched him hard in the shoulder. “Jin, what the fuck?! Then what are you doing here?! Are you crazy?”

Jin gave him a dark, sidelong look. “I’m here to confront him.”

“_Confront_ him?! Boy, are you stupid? He owns like – the whole world?! And what do you mean _confront_ him?! Kill him? You ever killed a man before? You ever use that thick brain of yours?!”

Jin sat back and leaned against the wall. A little light found its way onto his face, and Hwoarang read uncertainty there for the first time. Just then, Jin looked years younger, and Hwoarang realised quite how much he’d grown himself in the last couple of years. Jin’s retort might have been met with a boast of his own to rival it at the last tournament. Things were different now.

“I can’t hide forever…” Jin said. But he didn’t sound so sure anymore.

“Yes, you damn well can, if that’s what it takes.”

Jin’s eyes hooded. “I’m taking him down.”

“And did you think of Tekken Force? Of how much security there is here? Of how that old man doesn’t have to abide by the rules of his own tournament?”

“I know all that,” Jin snapped, “but I just have to do it.”

Hwoarang blew out his breath. “Damn,” he said after a while. There were dust motes hovering in the air where the sunlight slid as shards through the small windows into the underground room. “Fine. If you gotta be like that, I’m sticking to you like glue. They ain’t getting the jump on you while I’m around, at least.”

Jin shot him a look. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

"I know Kazama-fucking-Jin doesn’t need a bodyguard. But he does look like he could use a friend.”

The still room, with its sentinel lockers and unassuming dark tile floor and paused air, was like a step out of time.

Jin gave a huff. Hwoarang got out a cigarette and lit it up. The end crinkled with glowing embers. He let the smoke pull away through his lips and smoulder silvery in the silence. There was a soft thump on his shoulder. Jin had leaned his forehead against him. His heavy hood shielded his face from all scrutiny. Hwoarang said nothing. He knew what it was to feel like every shadow held an enemy and to have precious few places to feel safe enough for a moment of reprieve. He looped an arm around Jin’s shoulders and held him firmly, then just kept smoking and looking forward.

“Smoking’s bad for your health.” Jin’s voice was muffled against Hwoarang’s dobok.

“Damn, I really oughta be careful. Could be placing myself at risk or something.”

He felt Jin give a small laugh in response to that. The gallows humour was only a little respite, but it was enough for them just then. Hwoarang gave Jin’s shoulders an extra squeeze.

“Want a cigarette?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I wasn't done with gentle Jin things.


	20. Jin & Chaolan: MIRROR

Jin placed his fingers against the glass. Below was a riot of colour. Signs in so many languages, coats and posters, umbrellas and scarves, instruments and flags and fists, all bobbing in the air to words and rhythms that three inches of window pane dulled to a perfect silence.

“Will they get in?” he asked.

The streets were awash with a sea of people, as far as the eye could see. They milled around buildings like breakers on the ocean and seeped down streets for miles, all visible from the high vantage point of the tower. Some people closer to the front of the crowds were kicking and throwing themselves at the exterior of Violet Systems’ atrium.

“I have combots down there to ensure no one gets to anywhere where they could damage themselves or others.” Chaolan spoke gently to Jin. His nephew had been reticent since awakening. His brow was nearly always furrowed and his eyes were dark with unspoken, bleak thoughts. He reminded Chaolan of how Kazuya had gotten towards the end of his time as head of the Zaibatsu. Eventually anger and rage had subsided into something so withdrawn into the labyrinth of its own thoughts, that Kazuya had been barely recognisable as the brother Chaolan had once known.

Jin looked blankly down at the chaos. Chaolan followed his gaze to where one protester was climbing a lamppost. He watched their progress in silence with Jin, until the protestor unfurled a long banner that read _Kazama Jin must __**PAY**__.__ Blood for Blood._

Chaolan touched Jin’s shoulder. “Come, let’s not watch this, there are things we must get on with.”

Jin stayed put, as Chaolan had somehow known he would.

“Can I get you anything? Coffee? Whiskey?” The sentence came out before Chaolan could stop it. Twenty years and he still found old methods for placating Kazuya slipping out around Kazuya’s son. “Or… a chocolate milk?” Chaolan added quickly. Jin shot him a sidelong glare. Chaolan gave him a dazzling smile, but Jin simply returned his taciturn attention to the protests outside. “Staring at it won’t disperse it, nor will it ease your heart. Work is the only thing for a heavy soul.”

Jin looked at him again, this time with younger-looking eyes. Chaolan wondered, not for the first time, what might have become of all this if he’d found his nephew earlier – if he’d reached him before life made him hard.

“I don’t want it to be eased.” Jin said after a long silence. “I want to feel what they feel. I want to know their hate. I want to know their pain.”

“Torturing yourself over what you’ve done won’t bring them back what they’ve lost.” Chaolan’s expression became firmer. “And neither will handing yourself over to suffer someone’s idea of justice. Make something of yourself and try to do better.” Chaolan was always wavering around Jin, caught in that place between being the responsible uncle, and seeing the shadow of his older brother before him. “We’ve all done… questionable things. Especially under the Zaibatsu… It has a way of bringing out the worst in us.”

“I wasn’t _under_ the Zaibatsu,” Jin snapped. “I headed it. Thousands are dead because of me. Maybe millions. I don’t want to feel good about that. I don’t want to move on from it.” He looked out the window. “I want what they want.”

“You do not.” Chaolan’s voice was sharp. “They want a witch hunt. They want to pin the culmination of a hundred wars on one man. _You_ want reprieve from your guilt.”

“One man ordered those wars. They don’t need to pin anything.”

Chaolan gave a bitter laugh. The coldness of it seemed to catch Jin off guard.

“One man cannot start a hundred wars, Kazama Jin. Don’t flatter yourself. You’re guilty alright. Guilty of lighting tinderboxes in places full of dry brushwood, and adding fuel to the fire, but conflicts are always more complex that the wishes of one man. To claim otherwise is to belittle the struggles of others and boil them down to your own influence and ambition. You think no one has used those conflicts to their own advantage? You think no one has being waiting for them? That your Tekken Forces alone were aggressors?”

“I don’t want to hear justifications for what I’ve done.”

“I’m not justifying anything, Jin, I’m just telling you to wake up and see that the world doesn’t revolve around you and your bad choices, and neither will it be righted if I give them my only nephew to crucify.” Chaolan’s eyes flashed. He saw hesitation in Jin for the first time. There was a wariness there, fractions of uncertainty and the desire to trust, the desire to let himself be cared for. Jin still had those gentler vulnerabilities in him. Chaolan hadn’t been been able to see those in Kazuya. Not when Chaolan had tried to calm him as his paranoia was consuming him towards the end, not when Kazuya’s hand had been on his neck as Chaolan failed to complete some minor secretarial task for him, not even before that, when they’d drunk to Kazuya’s success after the first tournament, and the wine still burned Chaolan’s throat along with the bitter jealousy at his brother’s victory.

This time it was Chaolan’s turn to look away. He strolled a short distance and straightened down the white tailcoat he was wearing. There had been other times though. Before all that. Before this was all complete. These facades of elegance and hardness. A younger Kazuya had helped him up from the dojo floor when Heihachi wasn’t looking. A younger Kazuya shared things with him that he tentatively enjoyed. Kazuya only ever tentatively enjoyed things. If you only ever give half of your love, then half is the most that can be taken from you. Chaolan touched his hand to his heart.

“Are you… alright?” Jin inquired behind him.

“Perfectly excellent!” Chaolan said, though he didn’t turn around. And the times when Kazuya had said some stupidly stubborn comment, turning Heihachi’s wrath in another direction. If Chaolan closed his eyes, he could feel the visceral gratitude he’d felt in those moments and the overflowing of love for that stupidly stubborn brother. It was all a tangle of unhealthy situations and stolen moments of relief. He’d been so young then, and things like winning their father’s affection, and the promise of the Zaibatsu were all so tantalisingly close. A younger him had stumbled from hope to hope with only ash in his hands. That was all the Mishimas ever brought to anyone.

In so many ways, Jin was that young Lee Chaolan. He kept trying to do the right thing, and it all kept going up in flames around him, until all he had was ruin and guilt and he was back where he started. They’d both thrown themselves into love for Heihachi after he took them in. They’d both stewed in their bitterness after his betrayals. They’d both striven to stave off that family legacy by trying to build a company to end that Mishima cycle. They’d both made mistakes… In so many ways, it was not a young Kazuya, or even a young Jun before him, but a mirror of his own youth, and his own mistakes.

Chaolan looked hesitantly back at Jin. He was all concern now, and had finally forgotten about that protest. Chaolan gave him a smaller, more uncertain smile and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Whatever happens, you’re not alone any more. We’ll figure out what to do together. Alright?”

A silence, then Jin nodded. Chaolan drew him close and wrapped his arms around him. Jin was quiet and unresponsive, but Chaolan could feel his heartbeat resettling and his breath drawing more slowly and evenly, like a creature that finally felt safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing Chasing Demons, but I didn't get a chance to write anything from inside the head of older, conflicted Lee, so here is some of that.


	21. Kazuya & Chaolan: INCOGNITO

Chaolan brushed a single crease out of his white pinstripe waistcoat as he checked his reflection in the mirror. He straightened the collar of his purple shirt and adjusted his sunglasses. It was fine. Complete with that beautiful deep violet hair dye, and his immaculate American accented English, there was no way anyone could doubt that before them stood Mr Violet, of Violet Systems, eccentric, genius CEO and developer of the next generation of robotics. He lifted his chin. He’d already defeated tournament competitors who had fought him before and known him in his youth. He was invisible. They’d not suspected a thing. It was fine.

As he pulled on his fingerless gloves, his hands shook.

This was good publicity, he told himself for the thousandth time. If the world fell in love with his first prototype combot, it could open the doors to a future where robotics had a place in everyday life. Today, a fun robot to watch fight; tomorrow, a robot in every home; the day after that, automated workforces and luxury living for everyone, no more menial labour no matter how rich or poor you were. And of course, the one who made it all happen would make a mint in the process.

All he had to do was keep Heihachi fooled until the last minute. The old man couldn’t chuck him out the tournament if he was the finalist. He’d look weak sending his adopted son away after he’d fought through to the final. Every new match was a risk though. Heihachi would be watching, albeit from a distance. Chaolan’s fighting style had changed a little, and he’d been trying to cut down on using any of those tell-tale Mishima Ryu moves. Yes, it would be fine. It would be more than fine, in fact, it would be excellent.

Chaolan pulled back his shoulders and flicked a strand of hair artfully away from his glasses. He strode out of the fighters’ lobby and into the glittering blaze of camera flashes. His heels clacked on the polished wooden walkway as the slow roar of the crowd built around him. He blew kisses and cast a single rose out into the audience. He laughed at the ensuing scrabble to catch it. He tossed his hair to let a some of its metallic shine ripple for the cameras. He heard a wolf whistle and paused to flourish into a bow, before laughing again and continuing up to the arena. He continued waving and blowing kisses to the crowd as the steel cage came down to seal the stage. Acting for crowds was easy, it was acting for family that was-

Chaolan stopped dead in his tracks.

He’d been so busy worrying about Heihachi earlier, that he hadn’t checked up who his next opponent was. He’d been so busy waving at the crowd that he hadn’t noticed the silent man who’d gotten into the ring with him. But there was no mistaking it, that scar, that hair, even the outfit, those eyebrows, that presence, that intense, murderous stare…

“What have you done with your hair?”

Chaolan’s mouth opened. His fingers trembled. He took a step back. The steel of the cage pressed into his spine. His throat was dry and all of Violet’s cool left him.

“Y-… H-how-… I-it’s not p-… possible,” he managed to stammer out.

The fighter crossed his arms and regarded Chaolan sourly.

“Why are you talking English? This part of your act now? You pretend like you haven’t lived here all your life?”

Chaolan swallowed. “K… Kazuya.”

Kazuya gave a huff. “So are we going to fight, or are you only here to throw roses for the audience?”

Chaolan brushed his thumb under his sunglasses to wipe away a little moisture that was threatening to become public.

“Y…you’re alive,” Chaolan whispered. “I don’t… I don’t understand.” He took a tentative step forward. The bright floodlights and his mirror lens glasses weren’t working in his favour. But it was him. It was his brother without a doubt. “I… I thought you were dead…” And now that deafening shock was rolling into other tides of emotion – pasts that Chaolan had buried and moved on from – crashing back like they were yesterdays. “You let me think you were dead all this time?!”

“Who was I meant to inform? Mr…” Kazuya waved a hand in vague gesture at his outfit, “Candyman from Planet Purple?”

“W-well, my alias clearly didn’t fool you for a second, so I don’t see how it would have been so hard for you to find me and inform me!” He was sore that Kazuya had seen right through him. And sore that he immediately sounded like he was in his twenties again whining about an injustice Kazuya had done to him. And sore that it had to be this moment on a stage in front of thousands, when he was trying to hide his identity, that he had to have this revelation, and somehow keep inside the torrential emotion that came from knowing that his big brother was alive.

“Are we done with the family theatrics now?” Kazuya asked. He was always ready for a fight, but Chaolan could see the moment was getting to him too. The way his irritated gaze wandered off to one side, the way his arms were crossed defensively over his chest, the way his head was angled away to hide-

“Is that a new scar? On your face there’s a-… And your eye! Kazuya, what-?” Chaolan had come close enough to reach out a hand to touch his brother’s cheek.

Kazuya pulled away.

“Don’t,” he said quietly. His eyes flicked toward a gold spectator’s box adorned with lights, lifted far above the stage and nestled into the rafters of the arena. “Heihachi is watching us. You want him to work out who you are? You’ll end up joining the hit list with me and this supposed son I’ve yet to meet.”

Chaolan heard it then. That uncertainty in Kazuya’s voice. It hit home like a gut punch. In that moment he could hear the loops Kazuya had found himself left out of – his insecurities as the world moved on without him and events happened beyond his ken. He could hear the voice of one floundering, unsure of his place and afraid of repeating the mistakes of the past that had cost him so much. Wherever Kazuya had been, it had not been riding the waves of successful solitude on a tropical island as CEO of his own company. It had been a place of struggle and torment. How very Kazuya. Locking himself away for another twenty years after his next failure to kill Heihachi, no doubt finding new ways to push his body to its physical peak.

Chaolan let his hand fall to his side.

“It really is you.”

“Mm... Heihachi interrupted my research. Now I intend to crush him for it. And learn what I can about this… Kazama Jin. You’re in my way once more. So let’s make this quick.”

Research. That could only be about one thing. Flashed recollections of red eyes in the family dojo. A beam of light scoring thick burns through his arms. The searing smell of his own flesh. Terrible black horns and skin turned to the mauve undertone of thunderstorms. Maybe Kazuya had finally rid himself of the nightmare creature that lingered under his fearsome temper. Or, knowing Kazuya, perhaps not.

Chaolan tried to keep his breath even. Rocky pieces of himself were already unstable. He shivered with a different quality now as he regarded at Kazuya and thought of that devil. The idea that he’d have to go through that thing in order to show off combot to his father... There was rarely anything that could compete with Kazuya’s twenty-year revenge plans.

Kazuya. So many regrets left on pause because Chaolan had deemed them not worth untangling. Bitterness and frustration and relief. It felt wrong, but it came back to him strong in that moment. That deep, deep relief. He did not have to be the one to take down Heihachi. His father’s wrath would not be for him this tournament. Kazuya was back, and whether consciously or not, he was always Chaolan’s barrier between him and the full brunt of Heihachi’s rage.

Kazuya.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hug him or punch him. Mishima etiquette dictated the latter. But really Chaolan thought he could probably quite do with a hug just then.

He sniffed and blinked and stepped back. He gave a whisper of a smile and raised his fists. “You’ll find me just as hard to defeat as ever.”

Kazuya looked him in the eyes. Even with the aviators between them, they both knew Chaolan was thrown and not on his game.

Chaolan put on a brave face. And took in a deep breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By request for Rocca on twitter who suggested Kaz and Lee meeting at TK4. A great choice, thanks! I enjoyed thinking about this. please someone hug Lee.


	22. Kazuya & Chaolan: EQUAL

Chaolan flashed a smile at his driver as he got out the limousine. His secretary got out after him.

“No no no, my dear. You stay put, I’ll handle this myself.”

She looked unimpressed. “I always take notes for you at shareholder meetings.”

“And you look absolutely gorgeous whilst doing it, but today, I’m going to be taking my own notes.” He gave her a charming smile.

“How grown up of you. Shall I roll back the unicorn car mod you ordered on the Lotus Elise as well?”

“Not _that_ grown up.” He gave her a wink and she rolled her eyes. He put his sunglasses on and straightened his jacket, tugging up his collar.

“Are you nervous?”

He cursed internally and wondered if he should maybe start hiring less perceptive staff. “Not at all. You know how it is – looking one hundred percent is the first step to securing one hundred percent of what I want!” He gave her a thumbs up and a tinkling laugh, then walked away before she could quiz him further.

The truth was he’d noticed another major fluctuation in his stocks at G-Corporation and was unable to get any chatter from the internal communication lines he’d hacked. Most of their cameras and security seemed to be down and Chaolan couldn’t help wondering if this might have something to do with Kazuya making himself known to the world in the recent Fourth Iron Fist Tournament. There was every possibility that this wasn’t going to be a normal shareholders’ meeting, and the last thing he wanted to do was to drag his secretary into potential danger.

The lobby to the beautiful Millennium Tower was deadly quiet. Chaolan looked around the empty atrium. It was all airy glass windows and perspex staircases and white tile. It let in sky and light and blankness. He glanced at his watch. It was definitely the appointed hour. There was absolute quiet in atrium. A security camera in the corner was black, showing no indication of life. An involuntary shiver set the hair on the back of Chaolan’s neck bristling. He was beginning to feel that perhaps coming here had been a terrible mistake.

“Mr Lee? For the shareholders’ meeting?” A voice called from over on his right. A hassled-looking young woman in white heels and a white suit clacked over to see him.

“The very same.” He gave her an elegant bow and a warm smile that he hoped didn’t reveal his agitation.

“Elevator to the thirty-fourth floor, sir. Room 183.”

He thanked her graciously, but as the doors slid shut on the square picture of her clinical form in the mirror bright lobby, he did not feel comforted. He held a calm composure as the elevator slid its thirty floors with ease. It was all too soon that he was disembarking into another deathly silent corridor.

_Think smiles. Think unicorns. If _I’m_ on edge, every other shareholder for sure will be. I need to be their strength and guiding hand. This could actually be a very profitable situation to capitalise on…_

And like that he’d reasoned himself out of his fears. He pushed open the door to room 183 and swept in with a flourish.

It was empty. All those fears came thundering back.

The door swung closed with a click behind him that made him flinch.

“Jumpy today, brother?”

Kazuya stepped out of the shadows. A whisky tumbler was in his hand. Amber liquid sloshed about in it, winking like old treasure. His suit was a little lazy, with his shirt open at the neck and tie forgone, sleeves rolled up past his elbows and most of the buttons on his waistcoat left undone. He looked like he had in the past. When he was in charge. Chaolan was hit by an inferiority complex so hard that he had to fight off the automatic urge to step into his old deferential role. He’d had to bow to that sight every morning for two years: fetch coffee, hand over paperwork, smile, and keep on the right side of a temper that might potentially cost him a lot more than just his job…

“You… look well.” Chaolan was determined not to let Kazuya see that he’d yet again caught him off guard.

“So do you. Recovered already from those injuries?”

Two weeks ago, Kazuya had beaten him in the Iron Fist Tournament. Chaolan touched a finger to where the swelling had gone down on his black eye. He still had bruises to match his purple shirt running over his ribs. Kazuya laughed. Chaolan quickly dropped his hand. He wasn’t here to talk about tournaments. He couldn’t let Kazuya dictate this conversation and its terms. Martial arts were Kazuya’s strength, Chaolan had to pull the topic elsewhere if he didn’t want to suffer another humiliating defeat.

“I was under the impression that this was a shareholders’ meeting.”

“It is.” Kazuya turned towards an ornamental globe of the world next to him. It opened on a hinge so that it came apart like an eggshell to reveal a selection of spirits within. “Now, would you care for a drink? I have a Don Nacho Tequila here. Extra Premiere Anejo.”

It was Chaolan’s favourite, and he happened to know Kazuya hated tequila. He was on the back foot again.

“That would be lovely.” He gave Kazuya his best calm, unassuming smile. He could see the rest of that drinks cabinet only held Scottish and Japanese whiskys so Kazuya by selection that they had to have been hand-stocked. “So, you… have a position of some influence here now, I’m guessing?” Chaolan bowed his head in thanks as he received the tequila. He sat himself down in one of the many empty conference chairs, letting Kazuya see that he didn’t fear him.

“Mm. I’m CEO of G-Corporation now.” Kazuya pulled up a chair and sat near him.

Chaolan sipped his drink and tried to enjoy it, but the shock of that revelation distracted him from the fine taste. Instead, he just felt like he was swallowing fire.

“And when did this development occur?” he inquired.

“When those in power here betrayed me, and tried to order my execution.”

Chaolan’s face drained of colour. His fingers went white on his glass. His breath came fast. He glanced at Kazuya. One of his eyes was mismatched and glowing red. The intensity of his stare chilled Chaolan several degrees further. There was a pressure in the air. Chaolan recognised it immediately as the build up that came when old anger melded with Kazuya’s more devilish temperaments. Thunder precipitating black storms.

Chaolan’s voice was small. “I-… If you’re wondering-”

“I am, yes.” Kazuya got up and began pacing. A bead of cold sweat slid down the back of Chaolan’s neck. He looked for somewhere to put his glass down. There was nowhere, so he just had to hold it and look up at Kazuya with the most neutral expression he could manage. It was 1996 again and he felt like a fragile origami creature in the palm of his brother’s hand. “I was wondering,” Kazuya continued, with that languid tempo that always preceded his fury, “which of G-Corporation’s shareholders also knew of this operation. Imagine my surprise when going through the list and…”

Chaolan sat up very straight in his chair. “I’ve been an investor since Father first took an interest in G-Corporation. I monitor all the Zaibatsu’s interests carefully. I had no idea G-Corporation were resurrecting you or running experiments on you, and I certainly had no idea they planned to kill you.” He found his eyes drawn magnetically to Kazuya’s scarred, brown hands. There were callouses on the top two knuckles from decades’ worth of putting his fist into every solution. Chaolan wanted to ask what had happened to the old G-Corp executives… but he also didn’t. Kazuya caught his gaze again. Chaolan had forgotten how much cunning could lurk there. So different from the man he’d met in the tournament who was all single-minded focus. Chaolan had been very sure he could outwit Kazuya today. He was beginning to have second thoughts.

“Ask,” Kazuya said softly.

“The… previous executives…?”

“Dead. Along with all those who knowingly participated in or advised on the decision to kill me.”

Chaolan swallowed. He hoped that wasn’t visible. He set the tequila glass down on the floor in case it shattered in his tight grip.

“I had nothing to do with it.” He looked at Kazuya earnestly. “You think I’d agree to something like that? There’d be no victory in it. And I never wanted you dead, Kaz. We may not see eye to eye, but you are my brother. You and Father are always the ones out for blood. I never wanted anyone dead.”

Kazuya came over and stopped right in front of his chair. The tip of his shoe almost touched the rim of the tequila glass, Chaolan watched it hesitantly for a moment before he remembered that, with Kazuya, these things were always about power. He had to sit a little further back in his chair and crane his neck to meet his brother’s eye. His heart was hammering so hard he wondered if it was audible. His tongue felt large in his mouth. The collar of his silk shirt stuck to the back of his neck.

“Look me in the eyes and say that again.”

Irritation flared in Chaolan. He tried not to let it show, but Kazuya must have read it anyway. He put out a hand gripped Chaolan’s chin hard between his thumb and forefinger. It was just like before. That iron grip. Those furious eyes hunting in his. Kazuya wanting dominance in all things and seeing betrayal in every shadow. But Chaolan was twenty-two years older than last time. He wasn’t going to slip so easily into the places Kazuya wanted to put him back down into.

“I had nothing to do with it.” Chaolan repeated. He did as Kazuya asked and met his eyes evenly. “I would never try to kill you.” And there it was. That very Kazuya brand of insecurity that reared its head whenever he had to try and trust people. Fear wasn’t the only kind of power that existed. Kazuya could never understand that. “Kaz, I love you. You are my brother.”

Kazuya’s intimidation tactics were blown wide open. He let go of Chaolan and stepped back. For a moment, Chaolan could read him so clearly. Kazuya really had changed very little since they were children. A lifetime of fear, along with the sincere belief that he was hated by all the world. He was so vulnerable in those brief seconds, that Chaolan decided to stay seated so as not to frighten him into lashing out. Chaolan picked up his tequila and sipped at it. He averted his eyes so that Kazuya had the chance to pull himself back together. Power was useful, but Chaolan didn’t want too much. There was nothing more dangerous than a vulnerable Kazuya.

“So, CEO of a genetics company. Kind of what you always wanted. Your heart was never in Father’s arms manufacturing.”

“The genetics is for military grade research,” Kazuya murmured, clearly still caught off guard by Chaolan’s affection.

“Of course it is… you’ve got to maintain that evil look you’re cultivating. I assume most of your time and energy has gone on trying to understand your own genetics though, and that that will take pride of place now that you’re in charge.”

“…Why do you care?” Kazuya muttered.

“Got to look out for my assets, I’m a shareholder, after all.” Chaolan chanced a look at his brother. Late afternoon light was pooling in the new scars and shadows on Kazuya’s face. His gaze was heavy and weighed down elsewhere. His eyebrows were furrowed in just the same way they had on their first day of school together, when Kazuya had looked down at a sheet of mathematics problems. He’d been too proud to ask for help then, too.

“You’ve finished your whisky, can I get you another?” He asked that as he stood, though Kazuya’s gaze still snapped to him when he moved. He needed to get Kazuya to calm down if he didn’t want to find himself exiting G-Corp Millennium Tower via the thirty-fourth floor window. Chaolan was smooth and elegant as he moved around his brother with a practised ease. If he served Kazuya like he used to long ago, it might give his brother back some of his much coveted control.

Kazuya let him take the crystal tumbler.

“What was it?” Chaolan asked, “the Caol Isla?”

“Jura.”

“Sixteen years?”

Kazuya nodded. Chaolan poured the whisky for him and sprinkled it with just the right amount of water Kazuya preferred. He came to Kazuya’s side.

  
  
“Do you want to sit?” He drew up a chair for him. Kazuya sat and received the drink. “And a cigarette?”

“I’m not upset,” Kazuya snapped.

“Of course, you’re not.” Chaolan got his cigarette case out. “I always keep one in here that’s not mentholated. Old habits. Never know when you might need to placate an angry brother.” He handed the cigarette to Kazuya, then knelt on one knee and lit it for him. Kazuya drew in a long, deep breath and closed his eyes. Chaolan let him enjoy the moment. Kazuya’s eyes slowly opened again.

“Smoke with me.”

“You’re always so demanding, Kaz.” Chaolan got up and went and opened all the windows of the room. It let in a change of air and a stir of sunlight. He picked up his tequila and set an ashtray on a small table between them. He lit himself a cigarette and they sat in silence, watching the way the smoke went in silvery streams, tugged by the slight breeze.

Kazuya blew a double swirl of smoke out his nose. “So… shareholder. That’s below CEO, isn’t it?”

“It’s outside the company structure and you know it.” Chaolan regarded him over his cigarette with a tested air.

“No one’s higher than the CEO though, so, I guess that makes you under me.”

“_Outside_, Kaz. Means I’m your benefactor, I loan you some money so you can work on your little projects. Like pocket money.”

“Got to invest in my projects to make some money, do you? Only way you’ll ever make anything because no one’s buying your shitty robots.”

“Oh?” Chaolan tapped his cigarette on the rim of the ash tray. “If robots are so ‘shitty’ why did G-Corp buy up all of the Zaibatsu’s old stock? Must be kind of embarrassing to realise I was right about where the technologies of the future would end up.”

“Not as embarrassing as watching you pretend to be ‘Violet’, who was just you but with purple hair.”

Chaolan shrugged. “I look good with purple hair.”

“I have a feeling ‘looking good’ was really at the heart of your alias creative process.”

Chaolan’s lips played into a sly smirk which Kazuya matched. It felt good like this. There hadn’t been anything like even footing between them in a long, long time. Chaolan could feel that there was something different in the air. Kazuya knew the deference he’d been paid was calculated. He knew Chaolan wasn’t going to be bullied or cowed. And he even seemed to have a grudging respect that Chaolan had taken the stand against him. And maybe, just maybe, Kazuya also appreciated that Chaolan _did_ care for him, despite everything that had happened. The struggle of that childhood was not a simple thing to shrug off. And besides, neither of them ever shrugged anything off anyway. They were both the type to dig deep holes and bury all that past in the dark recesses of themselves. When it came down to it, there were perhaps two CEOs looking at each other over their fine beverages, or perhaps two children who’d grown up too fast, but also not at all. There was always that confused struggle between them. Too much knowledge about one another when they both liked privacy and secrets. Every word could cut like the first and only strike in a katana duel. Too much could be lost.

Chaolan blew his hair out of his eyes. He held his cigarette between two fingers and it smoked itself lazily. “Shut down your robotics department and I’ll double Violet Systems’ shares in G-Corporation.”

“Don’t like the healthy competition, Chaolan? I looked over the stats this morning. That department pays for itself, I’m neither expanding it, nor shutting it down.”

“Shut it down and I’ll very publicly invest in G-Corp, possibly staving off the massive crash your company shares are about to nose-dive into when people realise you’ve murdered half your staff.”

“It was more like a measly ten percent of my staff.” Kazuya said it casually, drawn out enough that it was laced with threat. Chaolan kept an expression of perfect serenity. He let smoke curl away from his lips. He said nothing. They watched one another through the growing haze of cigarette smoke, clouded with the pungent aroma of whisky. “Fine,” Kazuya relented. “Done. Those Jacks just tried to kill me, so I’m not in a big hurry to pump money into them anyway. I’ll keep a robotics maintenance budget for current field units, but shut down the research department.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, brother.” Chaolan twirled his empty glass between his fingers. He got up and set it down on counter at the far side of the room. “And very many congratulations on securing your position, from one CEO to another.”

Kazuya sucked the end of his cigarette and watched him hawkishly. There was a pause. “I want to see those investments before I pull the funding.” Then, “the cigarette wasn’t terrible… See yourself out.”

Chaolan gave a laugh at Kazuya’s attempt at gratitude. He had what he needed though. Equality. They’d made a deal. As business partners. Kazuya had at last conceded that Chaolan wasn’t going to be under his thumb anymore. Chaolan walked himself to the door. A smirk rose on his lips. Then it faded just a little and he turned and looked over his shoulder.

“I really am glad that you’re back.”

The afternoon sun had moved, so Chaolan couldn’t see Kazuya’s face too clearly. He saw those shoulders relax a fraction though and those tense, hard hands that could punch through a man’s chest, uncurled a little, and rested easier on the arm of the chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm I don’t know if I love or hate this, because it still feels very clunky to me, but I’ve read over it too many times, and it’s time to let it go. 
> 
> Room 183 because ichi hachi san are all in Kaz’s name and why not. Really pushing the limits of the short story genre I set myself here. At 3000 words this is getting into solo fic territory.
> 
> More stories inspired by rp between [ThalieXVII](https://www.inkitt.com/Thaliexvii) and myself (: Thalie has the beautiful headcanon that Lee likes unicorns because they are an imaginary beautiful escapism from the reality of his childhood in the Mishima household.


	23. Kazuya & Chaolan: CALLIGRAPHY

Chaolan spread the book wide and pressed open the pages. The side light set up at his low desk stood as a beacon in the deep gloom of his bedroom. A few wayward fireflies flitted about, casting strange shadows on the paper walls. He dipped his brush in ink again and tried to copy the kanji correctly. It was easier to copy the Chinese characters, but it had been many years since he’d practised even those.

A splodge appeared on his paper and smudged the ink of the stroke he’d just made. He brushed his eyes and concentrated harder. It wasn’t enough to keep up with his new brother in the dojo. He had to also be good at those other things, otherwise people would forever think of him as that streetfighting urchin.

The Mishimas had so much class and elegance, and every day Chaolan saw something that they took for granted that jarringly reminded him how different their world was from his. Sometimes it was just small things. Neither Kazuya nor Heihachi ever looked a servant in the eye who gave them anything. Chaolan still stayed up and sometimes tried to see who it was that emptied his laundry. He wondered where it was cleaned and how the clothes he wore in the day managed to get back by the next morning all ironed and fresh and folded. So many tasks occurred invisibly around them. They lived in a house that was a hive of activity, and yet Chaolan knew no one aside from his father and brother. It was downright unnerving that Kazuya and Heihachi could continue on so obliviously when so much happened in the periphery of their lives to keep them comfortable.

Chaolan did his best to be ignorant in the same way that his new family were. Sometimes he caught Kazuya staring at him when he’d been watching a servant - like his brother had caught him out doing something low and beneath them. Kazuya would smirk at him, as though he’d found confirmation that Chaolan was just an imposter after all, who could never measure up to him.

And like earlier today, when their private tutor had asked them to copy from their work books… Chaolan was fast at learning how to speak the language, but his reading and writing lagged much further behind. And then when Heihachi had walked in on the lesson… his hand had gone so shaky that his kanji looked even more wobbly and pathetic than normal. He knew he could write better than that, and yet…

Another splodge landed on his paper.

He blinked and wiped his eyes again. He brought the book closer to the light, and sniffed as he made the next stroke with his brush.

“You wiped ink onto your face.”

Chaolan jumped in surprise. His brush flipped out his hand and catapulted into the air. He rushed to catch it before it before it fell onto the tatami. He caught it, though not before a few specks of black flicked onto the floor. He stared at the ink stains, mortified. He rushed to grab a glass of water to try and clean it up. Before his hands could get to the cup, Kazuya’s fingers closed on his wrist. Chaolan looked up at him fearfully.

“You still don’t understand,” Kazuya said.

Chaolan looked over at the ink staining deeper into the tatami.

“Please, if it stains, I will be in so much trouble, let me-”

Kazuya’s grip tightened. Chaolan thought about punching him, but with everything that had happened today, and the ink stain spreading on the mat, silent tears suddenly came in streams down his cheeks. He wondered if Kazuya really meant for him to get punished, just to rub his superiority in.

Kazuya let go, and took a step back into the corridor. He clicked his fingers once. A moment later, a house servant was at his side.

“Clean up the ink stain. If you tell Heihachi about this, I will smash every bowl in the kitchen.”

Chaolan stared at his brother as the servant came in and began to clean up. He wasn’t in awe of Kazuya being bossy – he mostly couldn’t help but feel irritated and ashamed when the Mishimas treated people around them like nothing. He was in awe because Kazuya would certainly be in much more trouble than anyone else if he carried out that threat. It would be an inconvenience that set back the kitchen staff and made it hard for them to work, but Kazuya would be the one to take the full brunt of the punishment. But he just didn’t care. Or if he did care, he didn’t show it. Kazuya took a perverse delight in creating mayhem for Heihachi, and he bore the consequences out like they were an inevitability. He rarely made a sound, and never cried. There was a fearlessness to him that was probably one of the few things Chaolan really looked up to him for.

Chaolan stayed kneeling by his desk as the tatami was scrubbed clean.

“What are you doing writing at this time of night?” Kazuya asked, as though they were alone.

Chaolan glanced at the servant, then quickly looked away, remembering how Kazuya always mocked him for that. He held his brush to him and kept his eyes lowered. Kazuya picked up the papers from desk. A crushing shame crumpled within Chaolan’s chest as his poor brushmanship was inspected.

There was a silence. The servant finished their task, bowed to them both and left.

The seconds dragged on. Chaolan found himself wishing he could just get the ridicule over and done with. It would be better than sitting here squirming.

Kazuya put the papers back on desk. He knelt down and plucked the brush from Chaolan’s hands.

“Here.” He pointed at the page. “You can tell from the ink that you made these lines in the wrong order. If you do them correctly, they will help you remember how to write future characters better, since they follow the same rules.” He dipped the brush in the ink. “Like this. One, two is here, three comes down like this. Now you try.” He handed the brush to Chaolan.

Chaolan took the brush hesitantly. He copied the way Kazuya had moved the brush. His kanji still looked wobbly.

“Keep a steady hand, and move the brush straight down, like you would to block a low punch.”

Chaolan sniffed and brushed his eyes dry again, grateful that Kazuya hadn’t mentioned his tears.

“Do you do everything like you are training karate?” he asked. As he did, he gave a small, still self-conscious laugh.

“Of course.” Kazuya looked him in the eye. There was something keen there – an incisive honesty. “Because everything is war. Even calligraphy.” He took the brush back and turned over a clean page. He drew a new character, then handed it back to Chaolan. “You should remember that. Even when you lose the battle, you have to take what you learned and go back to plan the next counter-attack. As long as you’re still alive, you haven’t really lost. There’ll always be another day. All pain and failure is a lesson.”

“Even in calligraphy?” Chaolan copied the kanji, then handed back the brush.

“Even in calligraphy,” Kazuya replied. “In everything.”

“I don’t want to fight a war. I just want a roof over my head, and food to eat.”

“Sounds like a war to me.” Kazuya drew his kanji with a kind of practised violence. Black ink scored across the page like blood from a blade. “Heihachi makes different wars with us. You have your fight and I have mine. You should make sure to fight your war well. It’s been better here since you came.”

Chaolan felt calmer after that. They sat together and passed the brush back and forth, writing late into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Internet has been down a lot recently, so I've been writing lots of small short stories. Here is just a little one about brothers learning to care for each other.


	24. Heihachi & Jinpachi: SINCERITY

Kazuya looked up with bright, wide eyes. He bowed low, then glanced back up again quickly. He tightened his belt, and straightened his gi, and rocked from his heels to the balls of his feet.

“A karate-ka must be patient, Kazuya.”

“I’m very patient,” Kazuya insisted. He put his hands behind his back. His toes tapped on the wooden floor with excitement.

Jinpachi sighed. “Come, first, we will meditate.”

“But Jii-sama-”

“First, we will meditate.” Jinpachi knelt in seiza. Kazuya gave a huff, but knelt before him. “Close your eyes. Both of them, Kazuya. _Both_ of them. Good. Now, breathe with me – in through your nose – hold – out through your mouth. And again. That’s it. Be clear of mind. Think of nothing. Let nothingness fill you up, until you become aware of all that is around you. What can you hear? Can you make out the crickets in the field?”

“Crickets, yes, the birds, the water in fountain, footsteps.”

The boy had sharper hearing that he did. Jinpachi’s eyes opened and he saw his son had entered the dojo. Heihachi was wearing an illustrious haori over glowing gold and white patterned hakama. He’d had always had a flare for the dramatic, but Jinpachi hadn’t missed the way his son had begun to cultivate a bit of a personality for himself. He was acutely aware of the charisma and sway that Heihachi held within the family company. He had been more or less forced to give Heihachi larger and larger slices of the company, or else face a confrontation with him that might result in his son ousting him entirely. Jinpachi wasn’t yet ready to give up on the idea that the Mishima Corporation could be a force for good and leave behind its darker past.

Nothing seemed to satiate Heihachi’s desire for more than he already had. As soon as he’d made Heihachi the head of their largest manufacturing wing, his son had cut it from under the main administration of the corporation, effectively untethering Mishima Industries entirely from Jinpachi’s control. There were rumours of tenants bullied off prospective land developments, of vocal local politicians withdrawing their opposition to Mishima projects, of immense construction tenders being signed over to Mishima Industries. Jinpachi had even heard murmurs of gang wars that swung one way or another, with outcomes staggeringly beneficial for Mishima Industries, as real estate prices were driven down by violence… New York, Shanghai, Hong Kong…

“Your eyes are open, Jii-sama.”

“So are yours if you can see me. Close those eyes, Kazuya, we’re not done yet.”

Kazuya scowled, but but he shut his eyes all the same time. Jinpachi regarded his grandson with a pang in his chest as the child knelt in the shadow cast by Heihachi.

Heihachi folded his arms and leaned back against the dojo wall. It was an easy gesture, made by a man comfortable with himself and in his physical prime. Jinpachi could feel the threat tangible in the act. Like the taste of ozone before lightening strikes.

“Now,” Jinpachi continued, “tell me where a martial artist’s mind should be when he fights.” Jinpachi’s eyes met Heihachi’s from across the dojo. They were hard and there was a quiet mocking humour to them.

“Centred,” little Kazuya replied, eyes obediently shut. “On nothing but the fight. Focussed, but also to have zanshin.”

“That is correct. And when a martial artist must meet his opponent, how should he greet them?”

“With respect,” Kazuya replied instantly. “We honour our opponent by bowing, and then we look them in the eyes, and face them head on.”

Heihachi’s lip twitched.

Jinpachi watched his son’s face even as he kept talking to Kazuya. “Very good. Tell me about integrity, and personal sincerity.”

Kazuya frowned in thought. “We… must be true to ourselves,” he said slowly. “There must be truth in our intent and in all our actions. When we fight, it must be with all of ourselves in every strike. No deceit. No deception.”

“No deceit. No deception.” Jinpachi repeated. Heihachi had stopped smirking now. His expression was altogether colder. “To face an opponent, human being to human being, to test one’s strength against another, to do so with honour and integrity, to remain true to one’s self, to never hide behind masks, to never strike from the shadows, to raise our hand only to protect another, to never take easier, more deceitful paths to power. It is integrity and sincerity that makes a man great, not the ease with which he manipulates the minds of others.”

Heihachi stood up straight. The war in his gaze was terrible to behold. Jinpachi’s heart was heavy with sorrow for him. Heihachi took a step forward. The room felt colder. Jinpachi’s breath paused in his chest. For a second, he could feel every bead of sweat standing out on his own brow. Then Heihachi shook his head in disgust, and padded silently out of the dojo. Warmth returned to the room. Jinpachi could breathe again.

“Jii-sama… I didn’t understand all of what you said. I’m sorry…” Kazuya’s face was upturned to him, with his eyes still dutifully shut.

“Remember them anyway, little one. And think back on them when you are older.”

“Okay…” Kazuya said uncertainly. “Can we please do some punching now?”

Jinpachi watched Heihachi striding away down the garden path, back towards the estate.

“Alright.”

Kazuya opened his eyes and leapt up. He bounced to Jinpachi’s side.

“Hurry up, Jii-sama, get up! Meditation is over! I want to show you what I can do!” Kazuya tried to peer where Jinpachi was looking but Heihachi had already turned out of sight. Jinpachi slowly turned his attention to the child. “Yes, you’re right. I should stay centred on the present too, shouldn’t I.” He smiled kindly at his grandson.

“Yes, stay centred on my amazing kata. Watch how good I can do it. I already practised it for a whole hour this morning.”

So Jinpachi focussed on the dojo and on his grandson’s kata, even though he could feel the rumble of a thunderstorm growing in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A silent Heihachi, but it's still more about him than about Kaz, so he gets to be in the title.   
I always wondered why we hear more about Mishima Industries than any other branch of the Zaibatsu, so have some headcanons on that. New York is for Leroy and the gang wars there ( I put a trivia point on Jinpachi and Hei's pages [explaining how I think Leroy's story fits with them](https://tekken.fandom.com/wiki/Heihachi_Mishima#Trivia)). Shanghai for Lee, since Heihachi having long term business connections in China could have resulted in him walking the streets and discovering the boy. Hong Kong for long term Triad and Zaibatsu relationships that trouble Lei Wulong later.


	25. Heihachi & Chaolan: RECOGNITION

Chaolan turned on the spot, checking himself on the mirror. He barely recognised himself in the reflection. The dazzling smile was gone, and instead of the latest fashions, he was trussed up in a very formal hakama, kimono, and haori, in colours of grey and brown and sandy gold, with the Mishima Zaibatsu mon so large on his back he felt like the shipping containers he oversaw coming into the San Francisco Bay.

He retied the sash around his middle and stood taller. He could never seem to pull off the look. When he’d been younger, he’d never felt Japanese enough, and now that he was older, he’d much rather be in a leather jacket, or a bespoke suit, or that rather fetching fishnet croptop he’d bought last week that had remained safely stowed in his apartment, five thousand miles from Heihachi.

Chaolan gave a long sigh that he made sure remained silent, then he slipped out of his childhood bedroom and padded silently down the hallway. The wood creaked under his tabi and he moved by instinct to tread on the planks that were quieter. It was so still he could see dust motes clinging to shafts of sunlight, hovering, unmoving, in the air.

His father was taking tea on the veranda. A crisp frost lay on the ground and a bite was in the air. Chaolan bowed low to him, then remained standing until he was invited to sit with a wayward gesture. Heihachi had still not looked at him. Chaolan could feel anxieties pooling inside him. He was glad for the heavy material of his kimono that staved off a shiver from the winter air and his father’s demeanour.

Chaolan stayed perfectly still. He centred his gaze on the barren cherry trees and the drift of slight snowflakes in the air. He did not ask for tea, nor for his father’s acknowledgement. He kept his features serene and impassive. Externally he was a statue, even if inside he withered by the second as Heihachi made him sit without greeting or word.

“The ceremony will begin at noon.”

Chaolan inclined his head. “Very good, Father.”

“A formal gathering will be held afterwards. I have invited partners I want to invest in my US business ventures. When you greet them, it will be in your capacity as a Mishima Zaibatsu employee.”

“As you wish, Father.” Chaolan wondered what that meant. In his capacity as an employee rather than what, as a son? He tried to push that from his thoughts.

“I want them to all be agreeable and amenable to my business proposals and I expect you to do the work of convincing them. To that end, Kazuya will not be joining us. He always sours the mood.”

That was probably true, and probably wise, though this was beginning to look like an absolute farce of a coming of age ceremony. For starters, Chaolan had missed the actual date of his twentieth year, as he’d still been in the United States finishing off his degree. And now that he was finally getting a celebration, Heihachi had invited strangers and potential business clients to the party and Chaolan’s own brother wasn’t going to be in attendance. This was going to be decidedly the lamest party Chaolan had ever had thrown in his honour.

At least he was getting one though. When he’d received no summons to return last year, he’d gone numb. The idea that Heihachi had forgotten about him, after throwing Kazuya a lavish, no-expenses-spared event the previous year, hurt so much that Chaolan had shut himself in his apartment for a number of days. He had lots of friends in San Francisco. But for those few days he’d kept the company of a bottle of tequila and not a few hallucinogenics. Friends could come to the wild parties, not to the pity parties. Or the fuck Heihachi parties. Which is what he’d mostly been thinking as he lay looking up at his ceiling as it turned into psychedelic colours and dripped down his walls.

“The annual revenue turn over in New York was down this year.”

Chaolan blinked.

“I’m a long way from New York.” He shouldn’t have said that. He was still resentful over this dour party he’d been given.

“Oh? Your responsibilities are too big for you now? You want me to give you less of America to manage.”

“No, Father,” Chaolan murmured. “I will make sure I look over the New York sales.”

“I should hope you’re looking over sales in every state. Including Arizona.”

Chaolan fell very quiet at that. There was a matter in Arizona that required the presence of Zaibatsu muscle, or so Heihachi believed. Chaolan was trying to find a solution with more finesse. He knew his window was closing on how long Heihachi would tolerate his tardiness on bringing that little matter to heel though. The idea of sending armed thugs to beat up civilians made Chaolan sick. He stewed in these recollections darkly for a moment.

Heihachi stood up and batted a crease from his hakama. _Oh, conversation over, I guess, _Chaolan thought. It had been about about a year and a half since he’d last seen his father. 

“Is Kazuya on the estate?” Chaolan asked, trying not to sound too sullen and petulant.

“No. I sent him away for a few days. So that he doesn’t get in the way of your business deals.”

Chaolan looked up suddenly. Birthdays and corruption and intimidation all faded from his thoughts. His eyes went large and a soft affection blossomed in them. Was his father… was he admitting that Chaolan was better at business than Kazuya? Was he saying he thought Chaolan was good at what he did? Just in case he was, Chaolan stood and bowed deeply to Heihachi.

“I will ensure every client is eating out of your hand, Father. Everyone at that party will be rushing to buy shares in your American stocks.” There was emotion in his voice that was choked up at Heihachi’s recognition.

“Good boy,” Heihachi said. And it didn’t even matter that Heihachi had called him ‘boy’ when he was twenty-one years old and one of the best businessmen on the West Coast, because he had praised him, and Chaolan could live off that alone for the next two years at least. He tucked the memory away inside like a warm ember for a cold night. He was radiant and gracious to Heihachi and all smiles and adoration for him for the rest of the day and the day after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring borrowed headcanons from [ThalieXVII](https://www.inkitt.com/Thaliexvii): Lee’s time in America was based out of San Francisco on the basis that that’s where Law was based and we know Lee became friendly with him during this time. And that Heihachi asked Lee to intimidate the Changs in Arizona into giving Heihachi their ancestral amulet.
> 
> I've been wanting to write some Heihachi and Chaolan alone for a while now. This one is I guess a little partner to Kaz's birthday short story.


	26. Jin & Xiaoyu: SUNSHINE

To the casual eye it was hard to understand Kazama Jin. Xiaoyu had first met him when she was twelve. He’d been hard to miss, coming in part way through the school year and standing head and shoulders over the rest of the class. He should have been two school years higher, so most of them assumed he was stupid when he was put back into their class. No one dared say anything to his face though, because he had muscles on his arms and the whole school knew he was Mishima Heihachi’s grandson. Her friends had whispered and giggled and said he looked handsome. Xiaoyu’s first thought hadn’t been handsome. It had been eyebrow. Kazama Jin had a lot of eyebrow. He had a lot of quiet too though, and kind eyes that were just a little bit furtive and frightened. He would sit alone at breaks and look at the sky. He would glance over his shoulder when a door banged and only spoke rarely. He had looked like he needed a friend.

After furtive and quiet Jin, came relaxed and cocky Jin. The Jin who would hold her lunch box just over her head, out of reach, and laugh, but sit down at a table with all her noisy friends and share out his own food like it was a festival day. He was nonchalant and easy to get on with. Whilst he still didn’t like classes, he excelled in biology and art, and was the only person Xiaoyu had met who could keep up with her in the gym or in a sparring match. He was less tall then, or rather, the rest of them were catching up a little. People stopped seeing him as the handsome, mysterious grandson of Mr Mishima, and just saw him as Jin. He was amiable, and, whilst never too talkative, was always quick to smile. He faded into a crowd at school: someone you might forget to look twice at because he never dominated a conversation: someone you could pour your heart out to at a sleepover because he stayed up until the small hours earnestly listening and never passing judgement.

The next Jin was sullen and brooding, with his thoughts turned elsewhere. It was the first time he really seemed older than the rest of them. Like age had finally caught up with him and now the things they cared about were beneath his notice. He would skip classes, and sometimes whole days of school. Xiaoyu could no longer keep up with him in their sparring matches. He was focussed to the point of obsession. The things that used to make him laugh never cracked through his exterior any more. The things he had enjoyed: plants, animals, and drawing, were all pushed to the side. He was always wearing sunglasses, but Xiaoyu suspected it was mostly to stop people looking in. There were walls going up, and she could feel herself losing him. When she tried to speak to him, he’d talk of responsibilities elsewhere. He spent more time with his grandfather. He went on business trips with him. And as much as Xiaoyu liked Mr Mishima Heihachi, even she could see that being close to him made Jin colder and more distant.

Then there was the day he didn’t come back to school. She would call in at the Mishima Estate, but the only conversations she could have with him were from the side of the dojo as he trained. Eventually, the estate doors closed to her. The Mishimas were often ‘away’, and even though she could use the excuse to see Mr Wang to get in, the dojo was off limits to her. Then her own work took her attention away from endless searching for Jin. She had exams to worry about and her other friendships to attend to. Kazama Jin became nothing more than a name she’d find herself doodling on a worksheet when her mind drifted elsewhere, and that she’d scrunch into a ball and stuff in her pocket when a friend quizzed her over it.

The announcement of the tournament almost came as a relief. Now that Xiaoyu finally knew what Jin had being preparing for, he felt reachable again. She’d trained diligently herself in order to attend, and Heihachi had signed off on her forms in person and commended her on her style and finesse. The Jin she found at the tournament though was not her Jin. He was arrogant and irritable. He pulled up his hood and wouldn’t speak with her. He bantered more freely with some other fighter his own age more easily than he did with her. He avoided looking in her eye, as if to acknowledge her would take him back to some younger, more innocent place, that he had to remove himself from. She understood why when she saw him fight. He went through his opponents like a wild fire. Xiaoyu knew after his first match that he was going to win the tournament. Jin had given all of himself to be this good. Too much of himself, she thought.

When she watched him fight a monster, she thought perhaps her Jin was truly gone. The pain in his eyes. The rage. The hate. There was something unearthly in Jin, driving him well beyond the quiet boy she’d grown to love. His punches hit harder than pistons and he moved like a dancer, weaving in and out of a flurry of claws so that her heart was in her mouth and her fingers were clasped white together as she watched.

When he won though, she saw something else. A fullstop. Curtains opening in his expression. And the relief that poured through her when she saw that look on his face was incalculable. There he was. The Jin she remembered. Like a snowdrop coming up through a long winter frost. She remembered the way he looked up at his grandfather with sunlight breaking into his features and the pride in his shoulders as Tekken Force escorted him from the victory stage.

She remembered standing outside the fighters' pavilion with a bouquet of flowers in her arms, waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

In some ways, she’s still waiting, even though it’s two years later. She’s still waiting for the boy with sunshine in his face to come walking victorious out of that arena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jmalsimmons requested some Jin and Xiaoyu!
> 
> [Thalie](https://www.inkitt.com/Thaliexvii) and I have a headcanon that Jin was held back two year at school, since prior to fifteen he hadn’t been in a formal schooling system before. This can put him into the same school year as Xiaoyu, if you take him as not quite three years older than her.


	27. Heihachi & Kazuya: POSSESSION

His vision was blurred. He knew it was all ending again. A claggy, foul tang was between his teeth. His mouth was full of blood. He choked and spat out what he could onto the arena floor. He hadn’t been ready. He knew he hadn’t been ready, but he’d come here anyway. His father always knew how to press his buttons. And now all that patience and hard work had been wasted. He squinted through the eye that was less puffed up and burning with bruises. Lights; dim sounds; feet walking towards him. He could hear each footstep reverberating loud through the stage under his ear. He knew those footsteps better than his own heartbeat. He could feel old terrors crawling through his body. _Get up. Get up. Get up. _He always got up. Always. The footsteps came closer though, and his body still hadn’t obeyed. He wasn’t sure if his fear was greater than his humiliation. Probably. He’d borne defeats before: losing was nothing to be ashamed of if you came back stronger. That fear though. That fear came with the knowledge that there’d be no coming back from this. The whole world was reverberating with those footsteps. _Get up!_ He pushed himself onto his elbows, entire body shaking with the effort. He blinked blood out of his good eye, seeping from a cut on his brow. He looked up at Heihachi.

That familiar smirk looking down at him, like it had all his life.

Kazuya was determined not to show his fear. He wouldn’t give Heihachi the satisfaction of seeing him die afraid. It was strange to think it would end this way again. He’d tried to be so careful this time. He’d withdrawn to try and understand himself – to try and eliminate the conflict within him that had led to his downfall last time. He had made progress, but not nearly enough. He should never have risen to Heihachi’s bait. But he couldn’t back down from a challenge. To hide after Heihachi had announced the tournament, with the Zaibatsu as the prize, was as good as losing to him. And besides, there had been another reason for entering. He’d wanted to see one glimpse of this boy, this supposed son of his. Heihachi had even robbed him of that.

A familiar hand came to rest on his head. Kazuya flinched. The hand tightened, as it always had. It gripped him by his hair, dragging him up. He gave a grunt of pain and spat more blood out. Heihachi hauled him to his feet. Kazuya couldn’t hold his own weight. Heihachi’s other hand came and grabbed his upper arm.

“Stand up!” Heihachi snapped.

The feral part of Kazuya’s brain registered that on instinct and tried to do as he was bidden. He wondered what the hell Heihachi planned to do to him now. Probably take him to some suitably poignant place from their past to make his murder all the more memorable.

“I said I’d take you to see your son after the fight, didn’t I? Come with me if you want to see him.”

Kazuya shivered at the voice close to his ear. He could barely think, let alone stand or walk. He wondered dimly if Heihachi meant he’d already killed his son. Kazuya tried to process how that made him feel. Hollow, mostly. He wasn’t sure what you were meant to feel for the child you didn’t know you had, dead before you ever got to meet him.

He must have passed out, because the next thing he knew, he was on the floor of a helicopter. Either that or he was reliving a very vivid nightmare. He’d spent many nights since he’d been revived, reliving scattered moments spent on a helicopter speeding towards a volcano. Sometimes he could still taste brimstone on the burnt air. He closed his eyes as waves of nausea rolled through him. One way or another, it would all be over soon.

“Nearly home!” Heihachi’s cheerful voice rattled around his throbbing skull.

He thought about trying to speak, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. It wasn’t worth playing into Heihachi’s games. His father was trying to torture him by dragging his death out. Kazuya intended to keep a stoic face through the whole sordid process. He’d spent a lifetime bearing all this through gritted teeth. He only needed to do it for a few hours longer, then he’d at least die with his pride and honour in tact.

“Still alive, Kazuya?”

He felt a toe needle his battered ribcage. He gave a grunt.

“Good!” Heihachi sounded sickeningly positive about the whole situation. “I almost regret not having you fight Jin in the arena. I’m quite interested to see the two of you fight. I trained him myself, you know. He was a quick learner. Mishima Ryu came naturally to him. He lacks experience, but he might be better than you. It would have been quite the match to broadcast. But the little rat has a habit of slipping out of my grasp, and he’s wildly out of control under pressure. And really, as you well know, I don’t give a damn about this tournament, I just needed you and your spawn tied up in a neat net. Thank-you for walking so willingly into that trap, by the way, it would have been such a hassle to try and explain away a second Tekken Force storming of G-Corporation to the media. You’re always so easy to rile up.”

Kazuya’s addled brain was trying to sort through his father’s amiable babble over the whir of the helicopter blades. He was trying to parse whether Jin was dead or not. He found strength returning to his limbs enough for him to groan and roll onto his back. Heihachi placed a foot on his chest to stop him moving. It wasn’t heavy, just a warning to stay down and still. He heeded the warning.

“Why am I still alive?” Kazuya said with as much boredom as he could muster. “Looking for something else to throw me off?”

Heihachi gave a booming laugh. He didn’t answer.

“Have you already tossed my son into a volcano?” Kazuya tried. Heihachi’s grinning face tilted down into his field of vision. Kazuya’s gaze slid away to the side.

“Worried about him, Kazuya?”

“I don’t _know_ him,” Kazuya returned heatedly. The effort made his throat rasp and another swell of blood arose. He gave a choke. Heihachi lifted his foot, letting him roll onto his side, and spit a globule of blood to the floor. He lay still after the effort, exhausted all the way through to his bones. He was distinctly aware of the raised metal patterning under his cheek, and the thundering of the engine. Everything he could see was at floor level. Heihachi’s geta sandals were tapping the air. Fear prickled over him again. And a terrible sadness sunk through him. What a waste. To have struggled for so long. To have come so close. In the end what hurt the most was his disappointment in himself.

“He’s like you, but better.” Heihachi’s words trampled through Kazuya’s melancholic meanderings. His eyes flicked irritably up to his father. “Jin, I mean. A sweet, obedient boy. So soft and kind-hearted. He certainly didn’t get that from you. Makes me wonder what his mother was like.”

Kazuya’s left eye shone red and clouded with hatred. His teeth ground together.

“Oh… _Kazuya_, how embarrassing.” Heihachi gave a sneer. “_You_… having _feelings_. It’s so easy making you spill all your little secrets. I always wondered if you even liked the boy’s mother. Now I know, I suppose.”

“So Jin’s alive.” Kazuya grated, trying not to rise to the ridicule.

“Of course. I said I’d take you to him, didn’t I?” Kazuya was silent in response to that. “Oh, I see. You thought I meant, take you to him in a poetic sense. No, my dear son, I have much greater uses for the both of you than death. You aren’t a threat to me. You beat me once in a fluke match. I’ve had no problem keeping you down like the animal that you are the rest of the time. I’ve surpassed your petty feuds and blood rivalries. To me, you are a perfect test subject, and my means to ultimate power. You will move from being a G-Corp lab rat to being _my_ lab rat. Not too big a change for you. Heh. Between you and Jin, I’m going to have a lot of data on my hands.”

Kazuya blinked. A coldness crowded close. He wasn’t sure what to think. To hear the vengeance that had fuelled his entire life meant nothing to Heihachi… But on the other hand, a glimmering window of hope had opened. If he wasn’t to be executed, there could be a way back from this. He’d make Heihachi regret making light of his vengeance, he’d – but in fact, it was just like Heihachi not to say what he meant. He only said what he needed to control someone. There was no way he was meaningless to Heihachi. That man had fought with his old fierce spirit roaring in his veins when they clashed just earlier in the tournament. Heihachi might lie, but his fists always spoke truths to Kazuya.

He wasn’t going to die. Not just yet, anyway. Heihachi needed his blood. Only the facts mattered. And these facts were enough for him to start clawing his way back from the brink as he’d done so many times before. He began plotting his comeback right there on the ground, lying in his own blood at Heihachi’s feet. He had to stop himself smirking at his father’s greed and arrogance. He really should kill him whilst he can.

“Jin? What data could he give you?” Kazuya asked.

Heihachi gave him a superior smile.

“Wait and see.”

The helicopter alighted in a meadow. The wind rippled as waves over the long grass. Under the silver slivers of moonlight and amidst the glow of green fireflies, it smelled like home. Heihachi dragged him out and dropped him to the earth. This time, Kazuya found his feet. As he staggered to gain his balance, he looked up. _Hon-Maru._ Heihachi had brought him to the family’s ancestral shrine, a magnificent tiered pagoda deep within the Mishima Estate. A place for dead Mishimas. The sight of it, black against a starry sky, didn’t fill Kazuya with confidence.

“Inside.” Heihachi came to grab his arm.

“I can walk,” Kazuya snapped. He made his way to the temple with difficulty. The doors were thrown open and all the fires were lit their stone lanterns. The temple had often been off limits to him when he was a child. The place still held a reverence and foreboding to it that made him uneasy. His bare feet were discoloured with dried blood. As he placed them on the steps, the wood creaked. Pools of moonlight lingered about him and turned hidden alcoves into glowing doorways.

“Upstairs.” Heihachi’s voice made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

As he climbed the wooden stairs, Kazuya found he became steadier on his feet. He took a deep breath. He was going to survive this.

“So slow, Kazuya. I didn’t cut your legs off.” Heihachi shoved roughly past him and strode on up to the next floor of the temple. Kazuya glanced back the way they’d come. He briefly wondered if this was his chance to flee. But if Kazama Jin really was up there… Kazuya was troubled. He chewed his thoughts in amidst the flickering candlelight, standing on the edge of the dancing shadows. Then he drew his shoulders back and held his head high. He put one foot in front of the other and followed his father up to the next level.

He gasped.

Strung up above the peaceful bodhisattvas, suspended by two chains was-… Kazuya felt something jump in his chest. He hadn’t been sure what he’d feel at this moment, but it certainly wasn’t this… _outrage. _How dare Heihachi get his claws into another generation and make them suffer as he had. How dare he ruin not one, but two sons lives, and then have the gall to take his son and-

Old protective fury stirred in Kazuya’s chest. He hadn’t felt acute violence and anger like this in years. Not since he’d stormed his way through that first tournament to beat Heihachi down.

That boy chained up there looked so young. Chains were wrapped around Jin’s forearms, dragging out his body and leaving him to hang limp over the shrine. He was still in his tournament gi bottoms – just a touch too similar by design to Kazuya’s own for him not to feel uncomfortable by the choice. Jin’s head drooped to his chest. He was unconscious. _Let him be unconscious. Let him be unconscious and not…_ Jin’s still expression was steeped in sorrow. He had an air of his mother’s gentleness about him, even if the rest was so familiar Kazuya might have been looking in a mirror. Jun would have raised him well. Raised him to be someone for whom the world was a fuller, brighter place, populated by care and trust and wonder. What would Heihachi have done to a boy like that? What shadows would have come crashing through the visions Jun had instilled in him? Why did this feel like-… guilt? He should have put a stop to this himself. He was responsible for letting this happen, he-

A beat.

His vision went black for a second. He clutched his chest. His heart throbbed out of time. Something wasn’t- He looked up at his chained son. His heart pulsated again, wildly out of kilter. He staggered. Something was calling. A yearning flooded his limbs, and a brokenness he’d felt since he first stepped out of a G-Corp tank was howling in the empty places inside him. There was something he wanted, something he _needed-. Close. So very close. _Every other thought in his head wasn’t his. What was this- _Mine- _invasion? He could barely- _Searched for so long. _It had never been like this before. It had never- _Thought we were crippled forever. _Usually when it came, he could- _My turn. My time. _Not here, not whilst Heihachi has- _I’ve found you. _

“_So you were with him after all, my half...”_

Kazuya was forced to the back of his own mind. Usually there was a kind of accord to this. When it took over, he willed it to finish his fights. But this was... He snarled and tried to seize back control. That thing was talking to his father now. From Heihachi’s face, he’d noticed instantly that he was no longer speaking with his son. Kazuya tried to look at his hands. They were still his. He hadn’t transformed. Then how-

He paused. He’d realised Heihachi was looking at him with real fear now. He’d dreamed of seeing his father afraid again. The old man was stepping back with horror in his eyes. But not like this though. That fear wasn’t for him. Not really for him. It meant nothing if it wasn’t his. He needed control. That other him blasted Heihachi back with power Kazuya craved. He craved it more than the air in his own lungs. Imagine if at any moment he could-… Imagine if that could be his. His body turned away from Heihachi’s pained cry towards Jin now. His heart lurched. What did it intend with-

His mind reeled and he was pulled away from the sight of Hon-Maru. A dim dreamscape slid before his vision. He was looking down on Kazama Jin from a strange angle. His own voice was moving in an echo chamber, disturbing the boy, egging him on, or egging something inside him on. Kazuya felt it. Like the tug of an old chain pulled up from a seabed, barnacled and seaweed tangled. He understood it clearly then. Jin had something of his. Something he’d lost, long ago. Something that made him complete. Jin had a second self too.

Kazuya closed his eyes. When he did, he could see in two places at once. In one, he was in Hon-Maru, before the shrine, with his arm was outstretched towards Jin, calling to the dark part of himself that lurked within Jin’s veins. In the other place, he was looking though cracked mirrors onto Jin, who was struggling as voices whispered to him and tried to tease out the devil in his blood. In both places, Jin was struggling against those chains. Kazuya wondered what would happen if Devil succeeded in retaking the fractured part of himself from Jin. He wondered if he’d be stuck here forever, looking at his life through a thick glass partition, caged into the back of his own mind by a demon he couldn’t control.

Devil seemed to be having some kind of trouble. A wall of tattoos had crawled over Jin’s skin, but showed no signs of lifting from him. The boy was resisting. Kazuya saw Devil’s confusion and the dismay left a space within his conviction. Kazuya stormed into his mind like a kraken risen from the depths. He powered tendrils into every part of that demon, dragging him down and consuming him. _Now feel what it’s like to be the one being possessed_, he whispered to the creature as he began swallow it up and bind it to him.

"_Kazuya! What are you do-...?!_"

_Thank you for showing me how to take over so effectively. I would have wasted hours longer in the lab and missed this trick. You taste like victory. AhahHAhahahahaah!_

Devil fell to its knees. _"No! It can't be!"_

Kazuya felt his power rush back and a crackle of his own electric energy surged up his body. His spine tingled and his fingertips sparked. He could feel Devil alive within him, fully manifest but shrunk into a cage. Before, letting Devil out had been like sliding a door open and casting himself into a black river. He’d had no control, and only flashes of awareness, and when his body was returned to him was at the whim or exhaustion of his other half. They warred out of necessity for control, reluctantly giving it up to one another when forced to. Now though. Kazuya could feel it…

“I see. I didn’t know about this method of unifying out power. This is the end of you. Now you’ll become… a part of me.”

And Devil was silent. Such a blissful silence. Kazuya hadn’t heard that kind of silence since-… No, he wouldn’t think of her now. He had other problems to deal with. He looked up at Jin. All he had to do was take that strength back and he’d have it all. Nothing would ever stand in his way again. He’d no longer need to submit to being a lowly test subject. He’d never have to fear Heihachi again. Everything could be his. Revenge. The Zaibatsu. The world.

After all, it wasn’t Jin’s power to start with. He stole it from him. Like how Heihachi stole everything from him. Once he had it all back, once everything was his, he could rethink things, he could allow himself a second of rest, he could wonder. He could wonder things like:

_I have a son. And he had been wronged as I was wronged. _

But not now. There wasn’t space to pause and let himself think about that. Now was the time for power. For getting it back. Getting it all back.

_I can worry about him once I possess the world._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me a while to get this one to a place where I was kinda happy with it. I'm not so good at places that are already covered by canon. It was good to think about Kazuya losing to Heihachi in the 4th tournament though - I hadn't given it much thought before (and there were even wiki inconsistencies to clear up on it, so another bonus of the topic!). It was nice to also try and pull apart Kaz's words and look over the canon parts of the three tk4 endings to try and understand what is happening to Kaz and Jin. So yes, here is Kaz possessing his own devil and forcing it to become part of himself.
> 
> Thanks very much to Rocca on Twitter for this prompt!


	28. Lars: PROPAGANDA

It was hard to avoid the face of Mishima Heihachi. He looked out from bright billboards and was on every news bulletin. His advertising campaigns rang rings around a younger, more naïve Lars, always tempting him with the promises of another, grander life. He was content with what he had, he would tell himself, as he walked under the giant tele-display through thick crunching snow and twinkling Christmas lights. He was content, he would tell himself, as fierce spring winds caught flyers and stuck them his chest. He was content, he would tell himself, as he lined up for ice cream on the pier, where the lollies came shaped like Heihachi heads. He was content, he would tell himself uncertainly, as he looked down through the driving rain and saw under his boot, at the bottom of a clear puddle, the recruitment poster for Tekken Force.

The first year wasn’t bad. The basic training was strenuous, but not unrewarding. There were four-day weeks, ample pay, and he got to travel. He liked his unit. He liked that they were from everywhere and nowhere, and that Tekken Force fostered an international comradery. He liked learning snatches of languages, and trying to manage ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ in every country he visited, and sampling a local dish in every new town.

After basic training came the best months – long projects that required heavy engineering. Lars had always liked making himself feel useful. He loved the smile on the locals’ faces and the wonder in children’s eyes as his squad constructed aqueducts, cleared rocks from dead land and seeded the forests and fields of the future. And he loved the work itself, watching the thin carpet of green, growing in what had been nothing but sand as the helicopter took off; their work complete.

He would have liked to have stayed on the humanitarian projects, but in the second year, everyone went into peacekeeping. He was glad he’d seen all the good work Tekken Force was doing before he ended up here, because these years were many things, but never peaceful. He was airdropped into warzone after warzone, with next to no knowledge of the conflict he was participating in. The debriefs were filled with lots of pictures, trying to familiarise soldiers quickly with the uniforms and appearances of allies and enemies. No one was technically an enemy of course, since they were here as intermediaries – paramilitary policemen of the world, with a reach the UN wished it had. They were the only ones who really got out there and cared about the forgotten countries, Lars would tell himself, as he lay awake and listened to missiles falling, with dull explosions causing the earth to shudder. They were the only ones who could put an end to all the violence, Lars would tell himself, as he opened fire on command down into a town, supposedly evacuated, but hard to entirely make sure, for the rising sandstorm. They were making the world a better place, Lars would tell himself, as the jeep roared away across the land, with napalm fires pluming behind them, blackening the fertile earth into desert. There were people who deserved to die, Lars found himself telling himself, as the faces of those he’d been close enough to see as they were riddled with bullets, choked on their own blood, and tumbled twitching to the ground, hung spectral in his dreams.

He had no more time for doubting the path he’d taken when they gave him captaincy of a small squad. He knew every one of those soldiers down to what they wanted when the special rations came in and where they hated to sleep. There were things more important than right or wrong then, like taking care of those placed in his charge. The fierce loyalty he gave to them, they gave back to him tenfold. He loved that squad, but the more he returned home with no casualties and a perfect record, the more they sent him back out, and the more people they put under his command.

Mexico was the first time they asked him not to go on a mission. It had gotten to the point where they valued him alive more than they did his leadership in the field. It was an odd thing to be left behind. His squadrons laughed at his disapproval and joked about him making real officer. He’d eventually laughed with their banter, but it hadn’t shaken the odd feeling that it was cowardice to watch them go. He’d sat in the comms room, anxiously listening to every radio exchange, giving orders and checking everything was going according to plan. He was still sitting in that room as a tropical thunderstorm grounded their air support, and the screams of his soldiers dying in droves filled the tinny room, next to the pound of rain and the whip of the wind, and the crash of lightening.

After that he started asking why. Because there’d been no calls for aid from Mexico, and they’d breached national sovereignty just to land there. They kept promoting him to keep him quiet, probably because he knew too much to sack and was too valuable to disappear. Lars had turned cynical after the Mexico mission no one had returned from. He was still close with his troops – he was always close to them, even if he had to start all over again, and find those unique traits and cares in everyone under his command from scratch. But he always kept a critical eye open now. He made mental notes of those anomalous missions, and the more he learned, the more the dream of meeting Mishima Heihachi, the man on the poster, his father, turned sour. The higher he rose in the Tekken Force ranks, the more ugly the truths became. Still, he wondered, as he lay on a comfortable bed in his private quarters in the Tokyo barracks, maybe Heihachi didn’t know. The Mishima Zaibatsu was a mammoth thing. One man couldn’t know every detail that occurred. One man couldn’t be responsible for all those crimes…

By the time he thought differently, it was too late. Heihachi was gone, dead, most likely. Lars didn’t even have time to process how he felt about that, because personnel were changing, and logos were being rebranded, and suddenly the basic training programme was cut and the humanitarian projects were cancelled, and they were on a war path. The quiet, unassuming, Kazama Jin, technically his nephew, Lars supposed, had succeeded Heihachi. Against all the predictions of the other officers, Kazama had launched a full-scale invasion on just about everywhere on the planet. The mess rooms were filled with outrage – shouting matches about the twenty-one-year old’s naivety when it came to military matters. Lars never joined in the shouting. He would stand at the window of the officers’ mess, looking down on the city, wondering and wondering. One day, he realised that the room had gone quiet, and that people were ready to listen to whatever it was that he’d been stewing away in silence thinking about.

When he turned around, with his heart full of regrets and his head full of dreams, he opened his mouth and out came a new, old form of violence. The Mishima Zaibatsu was nothing but lies. They could make the world a better place by opposing them. They were the only ones who could stop all the violence. After all, they were the only ones who really got out there and cared about the forgotten countries. Some people deserved to die. They could stop the war by going to war.

He knew they would follow him, because their eyes looked like his had on the autumn day when he looked down in that puddle and for the first time believed the slogans on the page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking about writing something for Lars for a long while now, since I did some digging on Tekken Force and their history via Heihachi's old game profiles. Hopefully there is some character exploration visible in there underneath all my own cynicism! I've been sitting on this draft for a while and it was time to let it go.  
I mostly wanted to convey Lars's own personal sense of justice rising to become stronger than his desire to follow orders and fit in, but for me this is always tapered by the fact that ultimately to resolve the conflict Jin started, we have another Mishima with a 30,000 strong army behind him, and that's never a great recipe for peace in my book!


	29. Kazuya & Chaolan: RUINATION

Chaolan was dressed in a trim grey suit. It was respectable, but something about it looked like it was a step away from flashy. When he worked for Heihachi, Chaolan always looked like a butterfly wrapped up in a cocoon. Kazuya knew that as soon as his brother set foot in America, he would burst into all the riot of colour and dazzle that he’d been trying to hide from their father.

“There you are!” Chaolan exclaimed, in a voice that was trying to maintain collected cool. “I’ve been looking all over for you! You’re not hiding, are you?”

Kazuya regarded at him through a haze of cigarette smoke. He was reclining on the low bow of a maple tree. Brilliant red leaves hung all about him. Chaolan shifted his weight uneasily. A line of mud was caked to the bottom of his gleaming black shoes. He’d had to tramp over three meadows to get here.

“I’m leaving,” Chaolan said.

“So leave.”

A crease appeared in Chaolan’s brow. Kazuya looked away.

“Don’t be like this.”

“Like what.”

“You know I can’t stay even if I wanted to, Kaz…”

“Did I say I wanted you to stay?”

A brisk wind scuffled through the fallen leaves – a glorious, royal carpet, bright against the damp grass. Everything here smelled a little damp. And a little of decay. Autumn was in its zenith. The Mishima Estate always felt like it was in autumn to Kazuya.

“I’ll call,” Chaolan said.

“No, you won’t.”

Chaolan paused. They both knew how it would be when Chaolan finally put some distance between himself and Heihachi. It certainly wasn’t going to be a time for looking back and reminiscing about what had been left behind.

“I’ll visit when I can.”

“When you have to, you mean.”

Chaolan gave a heavy sigh. He came and sat next to Kazuya on the tree branch. He kicked his shoes against the leaf litter and tried to scuff the mud off onto the grass. He’d always looked a little out of place amidst nature. San Francisco would suit him much better.

“Will you be okay?” Chaolan murmured into his chest.

“What, without you around to stick your neck out for me?” There was no need for the biting tone in that remark. Chaolan had always tried to de-escalate family drama when he could, in his own way. Less so over the last few weeks though, when he’d been afraid that irritating Heihachi would get his position in the United States revoked.

“I’m sorry I-”

“Keep your apologies. I don’t need them. I don’t want them. It’ll be easier without you. You always just dragged me down. It’ll be a breeze now that I don’t have to cover for your mistakes.”

Another silence, because, in those words mostly full of untruths, they both knew Kazuya revealed his vulnerability.

“I’m afraid for you,” Chaolan confessed.

Kazuya didn’t say anything. He was afraid too. The thought of being alone with Heihachi on the estate made his heart thunder and a faint sickness lurch in his stomach. But it was different to how it once was. He wasn’t a child any more, and Heihachi knew that too. Kazuya hadn’t been struck outside of the dojo in well over a year. Chaolan faired worse than he did these days. Their father more often played them off against each other than partook in any direct violence. Heihachi didn’t want to provoke a full on confrontation with Kazuya. That meant there was fear in there. Kazuya had waited a long time to catch a glimpse of that. It reassured him in a way that his brother’s words couldn’t.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, after a while. “Worry for yourself. If you go off the rails too hard, he’s sure to find out. Do it in moderation.”

“Do what in moderation!?” Chaolan’s cheeks flushed pink.

“Be you.”

He saw his brother’s eyes go soft with affection. He looked away quickly. When he spoke with other people, they only saw hardness and heard abrupt, clipped words. Chaolan always looked straight through that. Kazuya would miss being understood, more than anything. He would miss someone seeing that, under it all, he was someone who thought, and feared, and cared, just like anyone else. Ah, well. Sometimes it was annoying being understood. It was hard to build walls when someone kept slipping inside your guard. And he needed walls. He needed to be impenetrable. The time was getting close. Just a few more years. He could feel it. Heihachi’s time was waning, like maples drawing close to winter.

“Will you punch me if I hug you?”

“Yes.”

Chaolan grinned. For some reason that hurt to see too. Kazuya looked away again and held the slightly smoking stub of his cigarette out between his fingers.

“Let me take that for you, if you drop it here, you might set the whole place on fire.”

Kazuya scowled but handed over the stub.

Chaolan jumped down and put its embers out in a wet patch of grass. He stood up and looked over at him. His silvery hair shimmered in a breath of wind and fluttered like fine cobwebs. “I better go… The car is waiting to take me to the airport.”

Kazuya nodded. He thought he wanted to say something, but all his words were stuffed into his chest. He wasn’t good at getting them out, and expressing the things he felt. Chaolan gave a small, slightly sad smile, and turned away. He was walking back across the meadows toward the house, and the limousine, and the airport, and America. Kazuya hadn’t even got half a sentence formulated by then. What was the point anyway, was he going to call something out for half the estate to hear? And like Chaolan said, it’s not like he could stay even if he wanted to.

It was better this way. Chaolan was caged here even more than he was. The fear of being thrown back into poverty and obscurity had always stunted his personhood. He needed to get out. Well, good on him. Let him go. Kazuya knew his turn would come. Heihachi kept him as close as he could these days, but no amount of keeping a wary eye on him could stall the end that was coming. Kazuya gave a small smirk. After all, he wasn’t just being left alone on the estate with Heihachi, Heihachi was being left alone here with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some pre-tk1 thoughts. Roughly continuous with Fortified by Hate, I guess.  
I might do another one this era for Kaz and Heihachi, showing that strange relationship where neither are yet ready to strike.


	30. Heihachi & Kazuya: SUCCESSION

“Did you file the expenses report that came in?” Heihachi’s foot tapped the air and he didn’t look up from the papers he was reading over. The limousine engine purred softly and the ride was so smooth that the characters on the page before him barely moved.

“The Mishima Industries report? Yes, I filed it.” Kazuya glanced carelessly out the window. He’d finished all his work at the office an hour early and certainly had nothing that demanded his attention during the commute home.

“It’s not in this pile,” Heihachi said, impatience showing through the holes in his tone. His professional demeanour always cracked as they drew closer to the estate.

“Because you’re looking at the receipts. I filed it as an invoice, since they operate as an external company for tax purposes. Check the blue folder.”

Heihachi glared at him. He picked up the blue folder and sifted through it until he found what he was looking for. He gave a grunt. Another silence reigned between them. Kazuya wanted a cigarette, but Heihachi never allowed it in the car.

“What do you mean ‘tax purposes’?” Heihachi looked up from his work.

Kazuya rolled his attention over slowly, like it was a leisurely, expensive thing, not accustomed to being demanded.

“Well, I assumed that’s why Mishima Industries are semi-independently structured.”

“No, I severed many of their ties from the main Zaibatsu to gain greater independence from my father in the late sixties.”

Kazuya gave him a lazy look.

“And you never thought to register them as a different company at the tax office?” There was a slight scorn in his voice. Just a little though. It was fun to provoke Heihachi up to the limits of his patience. Beyond that, the teasing rarely justified the punishment that followed.

“Of course I did,” Heihachi snapped. He was definitely frustrated now. It always amused Kazuya when his father was caught off guard by the fact that he wasn’t terrible at his job. “But it’s obviously still in the Mishima name, and obviously still counts as part of our annual income.”

“Only because you registered it in Japan.”

“Of course I registered it in Japan, you dullard, Mishima Industries was founded here!”

“But you were in America in the sixties, weren’t you? And paperwork travelling oversees so often gets lost… And the nineteen-sixties… so few digital paper trails to corroborate those stories…”

Heihachi had forgotten his anger and was now stroking his chin.

“Perhaps the original founding paperwork could have gotten lost during some of those Trans-Atlantic flights…”

“It’s come to your attention that the company has wrongly been registered for all those years… And what a blow that would be to the Japanese Ministry of Finance… Finally discovering that they’re in arrears after all this years… They’ve been mistakenly claiming taxes from the magnanimous philanthropist, Mishima Heihachi.”

“Magnanimous philanthropist...” Heihachi liked the sound of that. He placed a thoughtful finger over his lips. “Now that I think about it… the company actually originally had headquarters in the Cayman Islands…”

“I heard the weather is beautiful there.”

“Such nice beaches.”

Kazuya flashed his father a cruel smile. Heihachi returned it.

“Don’t get too cocky.” Heihachi wagged a finger at him.

“Indeed. I will keep my money-making mouth shut in future.”

“Hmph!” Heihachi made an unimpressed sound, then grumbled into his moustache.

Kazuya thought he’d earned enough good favour to pose a question that had been bothering him for some months now. “Did you really give Chaolan oversight of the American wing of the company because he excelled beyond me at finance?”

Heihachi was thankfully too engrossed in his thoughts for the Zaibatsu’s future to give Kazuya the full biting sneer that question would have usually merited.

“Hmm? What, jealous, Kazuya?”

“Is he better than me at it?” Kazuya tried to still sound idle. It was a burning question in his mind. He knew that the real rivalry was about martial arts, but it irked him that Chaolan might best him in other areas…

“Hm?” Heihachi gave him only half a glance. “Better? I don’t know. I don’t care. I kept you here to control you. And to teach you the advanced kata.”

“I know that, but-”

“Have you mastered your last kata?” The atmosphere in the limousine had changed. They were back in the dojo on the Mishima Estate. Kazuya no longer got the privilege of speaking his mind.

Kazuya straightened in his seat. “I know it well, but it is not yet mastered.”

“You’re slow.”

“I’ll be in the dojo the moment we get back.”

“You don’t have any work to finish?”

It was office talk again. Kazuya have his father a withering look. “I finished hours ago. Maybe if you gave me more responsibilities, like you gave Chaolan…”

“Or like my father gave me.”

Kazuya gave a smirk and looked back out the window. If he took Heihachi’s company from him, it woudn’t be using the underhand methods Heihachi had used to usurp his own father. Kazuya drifted off into fantasies of patricide as the limousine finally pulled up in the drive.

As they got out, Heihachi striaghtened his fur coat and collected his papers into a briefcase.

“I’ll join you in the dojo in an hour.”

“An hour?!” Kazuya huffed.

“I do have a life outside of teaching you.”

“And how am I meant to drill the bunkai of the kata without a sparring partner?! This is why it was stupid to send Chaolan away. You’re meandering off, attending to business and there isn’t anyone in over a thousand miles who can take the punches I’m trying to practice.”

“Have some patience and respect,” Heihachi snapped at him. “I’ll come and beat you into your place soon enough.”

“Well, I’ll be waiting for you to catch up.” Kazuya had unslung his suit jacket. “Better make sure you _can_ catch up, old man. First business, now the dojo… Sort of looks like you're having a hard time keeping up with me.” Kazuya flashed a sharkish grin, then turned tail and sauntered off in the direction of the dojo.

Heihachi glared after him. He snatched up his briefcase and stalked into the house. He was disturbed to feel a flutter of apprehension in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a sucker for pre tk1 mishima stories. the relationship between Heihachi and his sons just before they become uncontrollable and lost to him intrigues me. When they are at the tipping point between being the children he has kept down and taking their inheritance as his sons, kicking and screaming all the way... I like stories set then. Heihachi has achieved what he wanted. He's produced these two lethal fighters and groomed them as his ruthless successors, and he's starting to realise the time has come for him to have to watch his back.


	31. Jin, Chaolan & Lars: AWAKENING

Jin sat on the bed, nursing his head.

“Do you know who I am?”

He cracked an eye open. The man before him was dressed in rich, flamboyant velvet and had soft, silvery, flyaway hair.

“You’re my uncle, Lee Chaolan…”

“So my father did tell you about me!” Lee clasped his hands together.

“Didn’t you betray the family and die in a street in China somewhere?”

“Oh, I see, you got his version of the story…” Lee deflated. “Well, not to worry, there’s plenty of time to fill you in on particulars. I happen to be very much not dead, and in fact the CEO of the world’s foremost robotics company. You’ve even fought some of my robots. Do you remember in the fourth tournament, a spectacular looking combat robot?”

“No…”

“Then, do you remember a gentleman with purple hair and immaculate fashion sense?”

“…Not really,” Jin gave. Lee’s face fell. “But… I was a bit preoccupied in that tournament. I got abducted by Tekken Force…”

“Yes, that was most unsporting of them.”

Jin raised an eyebrow at this strange man. His manner was casual and comforting though, and he was easy to get on with.

“Is this place yours?” Jin asked. He moved to the edge of the bed and swung his legs off.

“Ah… in a manner of speaking.” Jin glanced at him. Lee waved a hand vaguely. “I leant it out to my brother.”

Jin paled and he leapt up.

“You’re working with… with _him_?”

Lee regarded Jin’s fear for a moment, then his face ticked to recognition.

“Not that brother. Kazuya and I aren’t on speaking terms at present. No, I meant Lars.”

Jin’s shoulders relaxed. Then bristled back up again.

“Lars Alexandersson? He-… he led a rebellion against me! He wants me dead!”

Lee winced.

“Well, yes and no. He certainly doesn’t _currently_ want you dead. He asked to borrow this medical facility of mine, and he rescued you from the UN, as well. Not the kind of thing one does if one wishes someone dead.”

Jin glanced around himself uncertainly.

“Is he here now?”

“Relax, relax, Jin. He’s on his way, but he doesn’t mean you any trouble.”

“You’re just going to hand me over to him?! The man wants me dead! You don’t understand-”

“Jin, calm down, he-”

Footsteps sounded in the corridor beyond the medical wing. Jin’s limbs were still weak and he was clad only in a thin pair of trousers. His eyes were scratchy like old sandpaper and his muscles ached like he’d swum a mile at sea. He grimaced as he took stock of his condition. He took a calculated step back, putting Lee between himself and the door.

Lars swept in, flanked on either side by soldiers all in black and red full armour, guns loaded and idle in their hands. Lars surveyed the scene and his eyes narrowed. He looked like Heihachi when he was annoyed, Lee and Jin independently thought to themselves.

“I heard you woke up,” Lars’s voice was stiff.

Jin wasn’t sure what he had to his name, and whether he had a shred of authority in this place. Those guards behind Lars looked like Tekken Force, but he had a feeling they wouldn’t be taking his own orders any time soon. He erred on the side of silence.

“Yes, Jin’s just woken up. I’m explaining to him the important things, like how glorious a shade of purple my hair was when we first met, and how excellent my combots are. But he-” Lee manoeuvred in a kind of odd dance step, as Lars stepped towards Jin, placing himself toe-to-toe with Lars. “-But he hasn’t even had a cup of tea yet, and it’s quite against my principles as both the owner of this fine establishment and the uncle of this dear boy, to ever cause a guest consternation before so much as offering a hot beverage.”

Lee’s eyes were keen and piercing, and met Lars’s steady, dark gaze.

“You gave these premises to Yggdrasil,” Lars said lowly. He squared his shoulders, which, with the addition of heavy, ornate, plate armour, dwarfed Lee’s physique.

“I didn’t give them to you so could could be unseemly to guests, though,” Lee returned cordially, but with just an edge of something sharper in his tone.

Lars’s gaze moved past Lee to rest heavy on Jin. Jin could feel the weight of consequences lurking in that look. A flicker of fear nestled in his gut.

A bright cheerful voice broke the tension. A bubbly girl with colourful hair, all dressed in pinks and purples, called out Lars’s name and appeared in the doorway. She stopped when she saw Jin. Her eyes went wide and her posture rigid. Jin stared at her. His eyes flicked to Lars, then to Lee, then back to the girl.

“Alisa!” he called, “disable safe mode and reboot!”

Lars launched himself at Jin and came for his throat with an outstretched hand. Lee backed himself and Jin up, so that a wall was behind them and he was between Lars and Jin.

“Lars,” he reasoned, “I’ve removed the programming. He can’t-”

“I’ll kill him!” Lars snarled.

Jin’s sullen eyes peered out from over his uncle’s shoulder. The robot girl hadn’t moved. He dared to hope for a moment, but then she walked forward and placed a hand on Lars’s arm.

“Lars, you said you had a plan that you needed him for.” Her voice was gentle. Lars’s fierce glare and wild expression abated a little. He took a step back, giving Lee and Jin a little more breathing room.

“You reprogrammed her?” Jin muttered in Lee’s ear.

“You are notoriously meddlesome, dear nephew,” Lee said out the side of his mouth. “Making sure your killer robot was not left on standby was quite high on my list of priorities.”

Alisa was speaking quietly with Lars, posture all calm next to the incensed stiffness lingering in his. When she was done talking, Lars was controlled again, though still terse. He looked blackly back over at Jin.

“Keep your mouth shut and do as your told,” he told Jin. “I brought you here for a purpose. You are a prisoner here and if you don’t mind your own actions, I’ll put you in a cage where they’ll be minded for you. Understood?”

Jin regarded him sourly.

“I said, is that understood?!”

Lee nudged Jin.

“Yes,” Jin had a bitter note in his mouth.

Lars stalked out, but motioned with a hand for two guards to stay at the door. Alisa turned back towards Jin once, with a fearful look in her eye, then hurried to catch up with Lars.

Once their footsteps had receded, Jin sunk down heavily onto the bed.

“His bark is worse than his bite,” Lee said, rummaging in a box next to the bed. He drew out one of Jin’s old leather jackets and held it up, inspecting it under the medical grade striplight.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Jin muttered.

“He has a lot of bones to pick with you…” Lee draped the jacket over Jin’s bare shoulders and came to sit next to him.

“Him and the rest of the world.”

“Well, _my_ only bone is that you didn’t remember my beautiful combots…” Lee gave him a wry smile.

Jin gave him a taciturn stare from under dark eyebrows. A moment passed.

“The one that fell down the stairs?”

“It didn’t just fall down the stairs!” Lee hissed, indignant. “It did plenty else too! Why does everyone only remember it falling down the stairs! It mimicked the fighting styles of every opponent it came across! It was a masterpiece of engineering, if a little early in its prototype release...”

Jin gave a huff that was almost a laugh.

“Are you staying here?” Jin asked. “Around, I mean?”

“Of course,” Lee said, and gave him a small, sincere smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had some thoughts on a little scene like this for a while. I didn't give Lars a big role in Chasing Demons, and I've been thinking more recently about his character as a balance between dependable and charismatic with his allies, and more hot-headed and intimidating to his enemies. I'd like to explore his relationship with Lee more, since they have some really interesting dynamics and opposing personalities in lots of ways, despite sharing goals. And of course I'm always a sucker for Lee taking the middle ground and awkwardly interposing himself for misunderstood but still very criminal nephew. And Alisa finally pokes her nose into one of my stories, whilst her head is still attached n all.


	32. Kazuya & Kazumi: HAVEN

In the long sessions, he went places in his head. He probably shouldn’t have, but they were a haven, and in those days, he got no other rest.

“The full round of injections will be going on fourteen hours, Mr Mishima. Food will interfere with the test, but we’ll ensure you get the nutrients you need at the end of the run.”

“Schedule a break in for the end of the testing. I told you I want time to build up my strength each day and practice my martial arts.”

“It’s vital that we continue to monitor you after the injection run.”

“And it’s vital that I practice my martial arts.”

“We’ll put a break in ten hours after the end of the run, that should give us enough time to cover the short term effects. You can have your exercise routine after that.” Kazuya ground his teeth. The scientist looked at him. “Unless you want the injections to be for nothing.”

“Fine,” Kazuya said quietly. Twenty-four hours with no stimulation other than his own head. “I want to see the results too though. Teach me what they mean.”

“You are the test subject, not the researcher, Mr Mishima.”

“Then teach me to be both,” Kazuya snapped at him. No one would ever have dared speak to him this way in the Mishima Zaibatsu. Things were very different now, though. The world was much smaller. Just a series of rooms and these unending tests that blended days into nights. Time was measured in lab test durations and monitoring periods. He tried to school his mind and his patience, but he yearned for those breaks when he could be alone and just train his karate. They were the closest he got to some peace and rest.

He sat on the rim of the tank, his bare legs dangling in the water. He watched with disinterest as lab assistants slid long needles under the skin of his forearms.

“You know the drill, we need a regular heartbeat, no accelerated emotions, no sleeping, conscious for the full duration. One of the drugs administered will keep you from sleeping, but the rest you’ll need to do yourself.”

Kazuya nodded vaguely. He was already slipping away in his mind. As the oxygen mask was fitted over his face, he let himself become distant. When he lowered himself into the water, the slow silence of that familiar world closed over his senses like a coffin lid. He always hated the way he was stared at in the first minute. Like a thing on display. A full array of white-coated scientists looking at him, naked and suspended in water, with so many needles stuck in him that he looked like a naval mine. The floating tubes around him probably further dehumanised his appearance. Gradually, the faces grew accustomed to their specimen and turned back to their notes. The tubes began to pulsate with coloured serums and Kazuya felt his veins swell. He closed his eyes.

He was there in an instant. With her.

Not Jun. He never dreamed of Jun. Jun came with too many complications and questions. She made him doubt himself and his choices. He came here to be with someone less confrontational.

“Kazuya, you’re back so soon.”

His mother was in a beautiful red kimono, walking around that part of the gardens that had always been off limits after her death.

“It can’t be helped – more tests to run.” Here he was fully clothed, dignified in every way that hanging in that tank in the lab was not. He brushed down his suit and looked up. It was a bright spring morning on the Mishima Estate: trails of cirrus in an otherwise clear, blue sky; specks of birds flocking on the horizon.

“You look very handsome in that suit,” his mother said. It was tailor made and bright purple. Unapologetic. Something he’d chosen for himself when he became CEO of the Mishima Zaibatsu, and tried to walk in his own shoes more boldly than a lifetime under Heihachi had ever allowed. The suit was long burned by now of course, but here it was still immaculate, like the day he’d bought it.

“You said that last time.” He got out a cigarette from his inside pocket, shielding it by habit from a non-existent wind.

“A martial artist shouldn’t smoke, Kazuya.”

“It’s not even real,” he told her, putting away the lighter once he’d lit the cigarette. He paused to take a long draw on it, and breathed out soft smoke into the cool air. “And it helps with my nerves.”

“Is that what the alcohol is for too?” She knelt next to a particularly bright patch of flowers.

“I never drink around you here, how do you know about that? And why are you quizzing my like this, is it because I was thinking of Jun?”

“You tell me, my child.”

“Fine, alcohol makes the world feel more manageable. I’d murder for a whiskey but I’m detoxed of all alcohol and tobacco in this lab, you’ll be happy to know. It’s a wretched existence.”

“I wish I could take your suffering from you, my Kazuya.”

Kazuya blinked, then he relaxed in a way that the imaginary tobacco could never replicate. This was what he came here for.

“I find it hard to remember your face,” he said, still trying to sound nonchalant about it. His mother turned towards him, but the flowers were tall and hid her features. His heart sunk.

“Are there no pictures in the house?” she asked.

“No…” Kazuya fell silent at that, thinking of uncomfortable things.

“Don’t think of that,” his mother told him. “You’re here to think of calming things. Not of him.”

But as soon as she said ‘him’, the serene haven around them began to peel in places, like damp wallpaper, under which was an old, old memory.

There was smashing glass. It came in intervals. The toes of a young boy twitched as the glass lay all around on the woven tatami.

“I told you she is to be forgotten!”

Another smash.

Kazuya smoked and said nothing. He watched idly as fragments of the memory merged into his thoughts.

“Next time I find one of these, it will not be glass I break. Understood?”

Small hands searched through the grass fragments to find the fallen photograph. There was a noise of outrage, and then the sound of child beginning to cry. Kazuya closed the curtains more forcefully on those recollections.

“He was also grieved in those days, you know,” his mother said to him.

Kazuya said nothing.

His mother was picking the small weeds from by the lilypond. Her expert fingers wound in and out of the stems. It was one of Heihachi’s gestures, not hers, but he couldn’t remember enough to give her any of her own. Instead he gave her the calm things Heihachi did, and transfigured them into what he imagined it might have been like to have someone always so tranquil.

“It hurt him to see you cling to my memory.”

Kazuya gave a huff of bitter amusement, but still said nothing.

“He still raised you, even after he wronged you,” she told him. “And to train you in his martial art means he respected you.”

“What are you tending in that garden, a patch of delusions?” Kazuya sneered.

“I have hurt you with my words.” His mother stood. She came and stopped before him. He glanced away. “But I would never defend him, Kazuya. It might help you to see that there was respect in your relationship with him, but then again, perhaps that would only bring more pain. And you already know all this anyway. Alright, come here, I will tell you what you came here to hear.”

He threw away the cigarette and let her embrace him. He rested his head on her shoulder. She stroke his hair.

“I will stand by you as you exact your revenge on him. Your revenge for me, for your Jii-sama, for your brother, for yourself. You have striven through so much. All your life has been a struggle. I’ve seen how hard you’ve worked to live, Kazuya. I see how hard you’re working right now to live. You’re not as alone as you think you are. I see all your anger and fear, and you should know, my anger and fear are joined to yours. I am with you in more ways than you will ever understand.”

“...Mother?”

Kazuya lifted his head slightly.

“Hush,” she said, and stroked his head more firmly. He quieted. “Heihachi will never understand or accept us. We were always meant to kill him. We both failed in that regard, but you have another chance, Kazuya.”

“I won’t fail again.”

“Make me proud. My blood flows through your veins. You are more my son than his. Strike him down without mercy as he struck us down. And this time, see that he does not get up.”

“I will, I swear it.”

His mother’s embrace became a little tighter. “Then what are you waiting for? Why are you in this laboratory, letting them treat you like a rat?”

“I have to understand a problem I have. I was out of control last time and I-”

“You lost because you weren’t single minded enough. You let yourself be distracted by other desires. Give yourself fully and the union between you will make you unstoppable.”

“You don’t understand, I-”

“I understand very well, Kazuya.”

“How could you-” Kazuya tried to pull back. His mother’s arms were strong.

“Hush, hush. Quiet. Heart beat regular, remember.”

Kazuya stilled. After a bit, he lifted his head tentatively. His mother let him. He looked up at her face. It was her. Perfectly, with detail he could never remember himself. Only her hair was white, and her eyes red.

“Devil…” Kazuya said, with heavy reluctance.

“I remember her much better than you.”

“She was never so angry when she spoke with me,” Kazuya murmured.

“When you were a child she spoke to you as a child. I only helped you see how it would be now.”

“You wouldn’t know. You came to me after she died. You never met her.”

Devil was silent. It wasn’t a silence that reassured Kazuya. Kazuya pulled away, and this time Devil let him.

“I came here for peace,” Kazuya said coldly.

“I know.”

“I don’t want you intruding here. I don’t want you making a mockery of what she was to me.”

“I would not ever.”

Devil still looked at him out of his mother’s face. It was somehow comforting and disturbing all at once. Kazuya knew when Devil spoke with that face, that the words became harder to ignore. He wasn’t so naive as to pretend he didn’t crave his mother’s reassurance, if only for a few private moments, locked deep in the recesses of his own mind. He watched Devil warily, though the more he did, the more he was sure that that was what his mother had really looked like, and how could Devil possibly know what he did not…

“I have to be in control,” Kazuya said. He was careful with his words. He did not want to provoke a confrontation with Devil in the midst of his injections. “My mother would have understood that.”

“Would she?” Devil tilted its head – his mother’s head. “Or is that just what you wish from her memory.”

“Of course you object to my research, you hate to be subdued. But subdue you I will.”

“_Your _research, Kazuya?” There was a faint note of mockery.

Kazuya did feel shame at that, but he never let it show. 

“I’m here because I wish to be. I don’t want to talk any more about it. Leave me, I wish to rest.”

“You wish to return to your delusions, you mean. I’ll do you one better, I’ll leave you with her. Isn’t that what you’d prefer?”

Kazuya frowned. His mother’s hair returned to black, and the markings faded from her face. He regarded her uncertainly. 

“You don’t remember much of your early childhood, do you, my child?” she asked.

_You can’t know that_, he thought, _you can’t know things I don’t know._

She took his hand. “Let me tell you about the happier days you have forgotten.” 

“Is it a lie?” he asked, quietly this time.

“I would never lie to you, Kazuya.”

And he wasn’t sure if that was Devil or his mother, but her hand was gentle and her voice was kind and her stories weren’t just calming, but like fragments he thought he’d lost in a dream. 

His toes touched the floor first, then his knees hit hard steel. He blinked groggily as the water was drained from the tank. He reached to take off his oxygen mask but his hands didn’t move. He blinked very slowly. The room was still a blur. The world moved too fast for him to understand, and soon he was shivering in a towel as the needles were being pulled out of him. He stared dumbly at his heavy limbs.

“It may take a short while for you to recover, Mr Mishima.” He heard that much slower than it was said, because the mouth had stopped moving and the scientist had turned away by the time Kazuya processed it all.

Someone put a hand on his bicep to help him stand. He put his hand over theirs and crushed their fingers until they screamed. Even that sounded slow and distant. He stood unaided, with the towel wrapped around his waist. He moved at a lumbering pace, out of the lab and into the recreation room. More white walls, and hardly any comfort, but at least less people. He crumpled into a corner with a crash that sounded long after the act. He push his hands slowly though is soaking hair and smoothed it back out of his face. Then he rested the heels of his palms in his eyes, and tried to go back to that place where his mother had held him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more quiet Kazuya and Kazumi things. I wanted a gentler scene in his mind during his experimentation period, but then Devil came in and inspired me to explore my thoughts on there just being one devil passed on through the Hachijo line.


	33. Kazuya & Chaolan: GLIMMER

It was dark and one of those winter evenings where the snow is so thick, that silence takes on a new meaning. Chaolan never realised how quiet a place could be until he came to the Mishima Estate. In the big city, there was always something: a car horn three blocks away, a cargo train rattling window panes, a cat yowling, raucous laughter outside a bar, even the faint twang of electricity, just thrumming constantly in the background. But not here. Here there was a deep quiet, full of foreboding traditions and restless spirits. Chaolan didn’t believe in spirits, but on quiet nights when the moon was high and you could see the pagoda roof of the family temple, where the bones and ashes of generations and generations of dead Mishimas were kept, he believed in spirits just a little bit.

Tonight though, the problem wasn’t a dead Mishima. Kazuya had fought with their father again. Not a proper fight, but a bitter one, with words thrown back and forth so fast that Chaolan didn’t fully catch them all. Before Heihachi could put a physical end to the argument, Kazuya had stormed off. Chaolan had slunk back to his room before Heihachi looked for a secondary target. It hadn’t felt right to turn a light on. Now a miasma lay over the house. A thick, dark, crawling aura that was oppressive and alive.

At first, Chaolan had nudged open the walls of his room so that he could peer out at the moonlit night and its still, snowy domain. He quickly grew cold though, and the temple, Hon-Maru, gave him even more shivers. He closed it now and got under the blanket on his futon. He wondered if anyone else could feel this pressure, or if it was just anxiety in his gut. He wasn’t sure he’d seen Kazuya that angry before. He thought he’d seen the worst of his new brother’s tantrums, but this overshadowed all the rest. There had been an energy to his fury that even made their father pause.

Chaolan wondered if he should go and check on Kazuya. No, that was a stupid idea. He’d been truly furious; it was just asking to get hurt. And if Kazuya lashed out, their father was sure to hear and then there’d be even more trouble. Chaolan lay in his bed, thinking and thinking as that pressure made his head ache and his hands tremble. The shadows seemed even darker and the quiet was so terrible he couldn’t bear it. At least with Kazuya, he wouldn’t be alone. Maybe going to him could soothe his temper.

It wasn’t really a logical thought, more just something he felt like he’d always known. Everything was heavy because Kazuya was angry. There wasn’t an explanation for it, it was just one of those uncomfortable feelings that only made sense when you grew up on the isolated Mishima Estate. Everyone sort of knew it, in a way. Everyone in these lonely paper walls.

Chaolan slid his door open and stepped out into the hallway. His feet were cold on the wooden floor. A single lamp cut into beautiful designs shone scattered shadows on the ornate, painted shoji. Ancient masked faces and warriors with swords and hills wreathed in curly clouds were lit unevenly, so that they leered out of places where they should have been flat. Chaolan swallowed and tried to keep his feet absolutely noiseless.

As he walked towards Kazuya’s room, his head began to pound. A thick ache was in his temple, like someone had bludgeoned the side of it. He should go back. It wasn’t worth it. And the back of his neck was prickling too, like it used to when he was creeping around a bad area of town after dark. His self-preservation alarm was going off. He tried to picture only Kazuya’s face, and the moment in his argument earlier when he’d let a fraction of hurt show on his face. A human Kazuya. Human and not… whatever this was.

Chaolan knocked on the wood of his brother’s door. It was a quiet rap. He sort of hoped Kazuya might not hear, then he could go to bed at least knowing he’d tried.

A pause.

“What do you want, Chaolan?” came from inside the room. Chaolan was rooted to the spot. How did Kazuya know it was him? But then his senses returned to him. Heihachi would never knock like that, and the servants knew better than to dare disturb Kazuya when he was in a mood. Maybe Chaolan should have followed their lead. He slid the door open a crack, enough that he didn’t have to shout to be heard.

“Can I come in?”

Another pause. He should definitely not be here. The heaviness was cloying, sucking at his thoughts dragging him downward like water down a plughole. He had an urge to hold the wall for support, and his knees felt weak. Then Kazuya grunted, and the pressure eased just a little.

Chaolan came in and shut the door behind him. A single lamp was on, shedding light on Kazuya’s room. It was neat, devoid of ornament or decoration. Chaolan had been expecting everything to be a mess, maybe with books torn and strewn across the floor. He’d seen that happen before. Instead, Kazuya sat on his futon, arms resting on his knees, his head a little bowed. He looked so unhappy that it was easy for Chaolan to forget some of his fear and come and sit next to him.

“I didn’t say you could sit.” Kazuya’s voice was cold.

Chaolan nudged closer to him until their shoulders bumped. Kazuya said nothing.

“I could feel your anger all the way from my room,” Chaolan said. “You made the house dark.”

“I didn’t do anything. People are always saying I’ve done something wrong. I didn’t even fight him. Do you know how much I wanted to punch that stupid old man? I kept my temper, or I tried to. But even when I do, people blame me for things anyway, so what’s even the point?”

“Sorry,” Chaolan said. He didn’t really think Kazuya had done a good job of keeping his temper, but he wasn’t about to say so.

“I just get this boiling rage inside me, and before I know it, I’m saying things and-…” Kazuya interlocked his fingers and bowed his head further. “It’s Oyaji’s fault, he provokes me and even when I try to stay calm and not listen to him, he’s mocking and he knows just the right way to-”

As Kazuya was speaking, the volume of his words gradually increased. That weight built up in the air again and made Chaolan’s spine feel like it was being pressed towards the floor. He put his hand over Kazuya’s.

Kazuya fell silent. The pressure eased again.

“The serving staff are all afraid of me,” he said. He was quieter now, more sullen and resigned than angry.

“You always sounded like you were proud of that.”

Kazuya shifted uneasily. Chaolan took back his hand, but stayed close.

“It sounds good when you say it to other people, but mostly it’s just very tiring. There’s no one to talk to. They hurry out of the room when I’m there, and never talk to me. I can’t trust any of them because they report everything to Heihachi, and sometimes they look at me like I’m-… Well, I don’t care. I don’t need any of them anyway.” Chaolan’s heart softened for his erratic, violent, lonely brother. “I’m surprised you’re here. I thought you were scared too.”  
  


Chaolan had been – well, this evening at least, when that horrible darkness had descended, but there was no way he was going to admit that to Kazuya.

“Scared? You don’t scare me,” Chaolan scoffed, with a bravado that he thought sounded a little fake.

Kazuya didn’t seem to think so though. He looked up at him for the first time and there was real warmth in his eyes. Chaolan’s headache faded.

“Really?” Kazuya looked away again. He had a small relieved smile. “I’m glad.”

Chaolan wondered what else he should say. He wanted to say that he was trying to be a good brother, but that he probably wasn’t very good at it, because he’d never had a brother before. He wanted to say that Heihachi frightened him, and that he wished Kazuya wouldn’t provoke his temper so much, but also that he was impressed at the way Kazuya stood his ground and looked so fearless. He wanted to tell Kazuya he was stupid for not having more self-preservation, and to tell him that he wouldn’t last two minutes on the streets of Shanghai with that proud attitude of his and the way he never just put his head down and weathered through another day. He wanted to tell him that even though the Mishima Estate wasn’t the dream life he thought he was escaping to, there were still things that were good here, and not being so alone was one of them.

Instead, he said:

“Did you actually get to eat any dinner, or did you just shout at it?”

Kazuya smirked and turned to look at him. “I ate some. But it tastes better after you’ve yelled a bit.”

“Does it, huh? I’m not in a hurry to try.”

“Are you going to leave or just sit around being annoying forever?”

It was easier to walk back to his room after that. The shadows weren’t look so long and distorted, and the air was clean and free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes when I'm meant to be doing other things, small Lee and Kaz sit in my head and talk.
> 
> This one is inspired by [Thalie](https://www.inkitt.com/stories/fanfiction/275512/chapters/1)'s young Kazuya who has bouts of oppressive darkness when he flies into a rage. I like the idea that even if Kazuya didn't understand it at the time, his devil still manifested in his negative emotions and pushed them to their extremities.


	34. Devil Jin & Hwoarang: WILD

Hwoarang wasn’t sure what to expect. Not this, that was for sure.

He’d deserted a war zone for the second time in his life, and for the same person. He’d cleared out his bank account and left without explaining to his master where he was going. Hwoarang’s last encounter with Jin hadn’t gone well, and he knew his near-death experience had rocked Baek to his core. There were a multitude of better ways to do this, but leaving with no explanation had been the most attractive option at the time.

Well, he was here now. Wherever here was. He had a bike he’d borrowed without permission from Cairo airport. He probably had nice arrest warrant out for him too, but a hundred miles of desert had solved that immediate problem.

He’d pulled up to a stop at a traffic light in a provincial town. A young guy in motorbike leathers and hog to rival his own had hailed him. They’d exchanged a fist bump and found they had some English in common. As car horns and Arabic curses swirled about them and the now green light, the nice lad had written down for Hwoarang, in the local language:

_I’ve lost a Japanese man. About six foot tall. Big eyebrows. Sad eyes. Have you seen him?_

He was avoiding names because of the whole – Jin being an international war criminal – thing. Dust trails had picked up as the biker sped off. The traffic had finally started moving and Hwoarang had looked at the paper and its hasty cursive. _Perfect_. Much easier than trying to mime being Kazama Jin.

A few days later, he was here: bike parked over tramlines as he hung over the handlebars, face caked in grime, grit, and sand from the road. A bustling marketplace was before him, draped with mauve shadows, crimson carpets, and bolts of indigo and azure cloth. And there in the middle, like some pharaoh trying to rise from its death trappings – Kazama Jin. He clinked as he moved, dragging a chain across the stone flags that seemed to be attached to his neck. He had a tattered cloak hanging off him and what looked like bandages wrapped across his chest. He staggered like a thing only partly alive.

Hwoarang sighed. He pushed himself off his motorbike and, with a flick of his wrist, stole a handful of dates from a stall as he walked. He tossed one up into the air and caught it in his mouth. He chewed down the sticky sweet fruit.

“Hey! Kazama!” he called, with what he a second later realised was zero tact.

Jin whirled around. Sand threw up into clouds around him. As it sunk slowly, a pair of red eyes glowed through the haze. Hwoarang froze. He realised with a sudden drop of horror that black markings were crawling across Jin’s face, as if written by some divine hand. The dates fell from Hwoarang’s hand. He faltered. The busy market place had rolled to a pause. Anxious faces peered out from around heaps of powdered spices in a thousand colours. White bone was pushing through Jin’s hair. Curling horns grew out of his head, their points fixed towards Hwoarang. Hwoarang stumbled back. He could hear people running and the sounds of their cries, like a distant film playing in another room. Wings burst from Jin’s from his back. A flurry of black feathers spun around him, causing his chains to clank and shuffle and dust to cascade into the air again. Hwoarang’s heart was thundering. He’d met Jin like this before. It had taken him weeks to recover in hospital last time.

“K… Kazama?”

A tin bowl spun on the floor. Lemons rolled away from it across the flagstones. And like that, the busy marketplace was deserted. Hwoarang looked around him. He got another half step back before he hit his heel on an abandoned crate of pomegranates. That devilish figure was advancing towards him. Hwoarang put out a placating hand.

“Ah, there’s been some kind of mistake. I was looking for someone, and uh… I’ve disturbed your uh… straight jacket time, right?”

The hand that snatched him was lightening fast. And clawed. The talons tore straight through his shirt and scratched at his skin as they closed into a fist. Hwoarang was dragged forward. The eyes that looked down at him through the fall of that heavy fringe were cat-yellow on black now. A third eye burned brilliant ruby red from its forehead.

Hwoarang swallowed. Baek didn’t even know. He should have told him. He wouldn’t even know where to look to find his body.

The colour drained from Hwoarang’s face and the humour from his voice. He looked up with real fear now. There was something manic to those eyes. And there was something in the air, like there’d been last time. This ash and death. This certainty that something untameable was before him, like typhoons that tear through towns. A force of nature. Looking into Jin’s eyes was like looking into thunderstorms.

“… Jin?” Hwoarang asked. His voice was very small.

“There is no _Jin_,” the creature rasped. There was a timbre to its words that sounded like it drew from ancient, deep wells,… places better left undisturbed.

“But… you recognised me…”

The creature hoisted him up, his shirt still bunched in its grip. Hwoarang grabbed onto its wrist as it lifted him easily from the floor. He scrabbled for purchase with the toes of his boots.

“As the hawk recognises the mouse,” it said, tilting its head. Hwoarang was dragged in close. The creature’s lips were warm near his ear, but a chill went all the way down his spine. The noon sun was high and baking the day, but just then Hwoarang felt deathly cold. “Before it _consumes_ it,” the devil whispered in his ear.

Hwoarang swallowed and gave a nervous laugh. “P… put me down and let’s settle this! You’ll find I’ve improved since last time! Let’s get this fight started!”

“Fight?” The devil grinned, revealing long, sharp fangs. “Did you not hear what I intend to do you?” It ran its tongue over the edge of its teeth.

Hwoarang found himself watching the minutiae of that gesture – the way its tongue ran over each tooth and came to pause on a long canine. Hwoarang’s heartbeat was in his mouth. He grabbed the chain dangling from the creature’s neck. He braced a foot against its stomach and rammed his knee into its mouth. The devil howled. Instead of dropping him however, its wings began to beat. Sand kicked up from the stones. Hwoarang clutched at the creature’s grip, trying to free himself before – too late. They left floor, launching into the air. Everything rushed about them in a flurry of feathers and chains. They came to a jolting pause, hovering some thirty feet above the abandoned souq. Hwoarang’s breath clouded up the chains before him. He looked down passed his dangling feet. Striped stall tops, umbrella canvasses, and ruined pillars were small beneath them. The vibrancy of the souq’s wares blurred to insignificant up here. The wind caught Hwoarang’s hair and whipped it about his face. He hung onto the devil’s hand now with a very different insistency. He swallowed and tried to stop looking down. The was a sound of tearing fabric. The material of his shirt began to rip under the pressure as they hovered in the air.

“J-Jin!” Hwoarang exclaimed.

“Hushhh,” the devil said to him. Its other hand circled Hwoarang’s throat. The pricks of its talons pressed into the back of his neck. “As if I would let you fall.” The new grip pressed into his windpipe, choking him. Hwoarang could only look at the creature in a hazy state, mouth half open, as air croaked out of his lips. He could see everything slower. The sky was clear cobalt blue above. Black wings thrummed in the air about him. Yellow eyes pinned him hungrily. The whir of helicopter blades chopped up the silence.

The devil’s attention snapped up. A beam of red light shot out from its forehead. Hwoarang heard an explosion over to his right, then an intense heat rolled across them and threw them backward. The devil struggled to stay airborne. Hwoarang had to cling to it as it threshed its wings. Then they were plunging towards the ground. Hwoarang grabbed at whatever he could, tangling one hand in a chain and wrapping the other around the devil’s beck, trying to pull himself in close. The devil caught itself as they rushed towards the earth, but only just. Its wings beat fast, just enough to slow their fall, but not enough to stop them coming crashing down. The monster’s arms looped tight about him. He was pressed so close he smelled lightening. They hit the ground together and rolled, the devil’s arms still a shield around him. When they came to a stop, Hwoarang had his back to the stone. That creature was leaning over him, panting through its still bared fangs.

“_Mine_ to kill,” it hissed, with a slither of pain its voice and a dusting of soot on its chin. It sat back on its haunches and laughed a hair-raising cackle. Hwoarang shoved it squarely in the chest, and it teetered, losing balance. Hwoarang leap up and sprung away. He touched a hand to his bruised neck and glared at the creature.

“You’re crazy!” Hwoarang gasped. There was another explosion. He chanced a glance behind them. A plume of black smoke poured into the sky and coiled up as a pillar, high above the surrounding buildings. “And now you gone and let the whole world where you are.”

The devil just laughed its high-pitched, erratic laugh. Then its wings beat again and it righted itself, alighting on its feet.

Hwoarang shook his head. “Don’t you wanna get out of here before the whole UN comes down on your ass?”

“No…” the devil said. Its fell eyes lit molten gold. “_Now_ I want my fight…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request from Skie for Devil Jin and Hwoarang.
> 
> A small thing set pre both of their TK7 endings and prior to Lars arriving.


	35. Kazuya & Bruce: DEVOTION

“S… S-sir…”

Kazuya looked up. The security guard in the doorway was white faced. His hands were visibly trembling. Kazuya stepped over a body and walked towards the door. His footprints were red on the white tile floor. The guard stumbled back, then bowed low to him. All the G Corporation guards here were American, but they seemed to be picking up fast on the correct way to show him respect.

“Yes?” Kazuya asked carelessly. He inspected his fingers as they slid from malformed, indigo talons back into his regular hand. Blood was streaked up from his nails and over his knuckles.

“Th-th-th-”

“Spit it out.”

“Y-yes, sir! There’s a man… i-in the lobby. We tried to send him away, but he-…”

“You can’t even keep people out for five minutes whilst I clean this corporation up?! I need _one _afternoon where the public aren’t inspecting the minutiae of G Corporation’s business, and you can’t even stop them from wandering into the building?!”

The security guard quailed and bowed low again. “H-he was too strong…” the guard mumbled.

Kazuya had promised himself it was just the executives that needed to die today. He needed to keep everything else here functional, in order to ensure a smooth transfer of power whilst attracting the minimal amount of attention. It was inevitable that there would be other areas of incompetence, but those could be fixed. This man was sorely testing that reasoning.

“Please…” the man whispered, as if he’d heard Kazuya’s thoughts. “I know we’ve failed you, sir. But I c-came to tell you, b-because you’re the boss. A-and you c-”

“Out of my way.” Kazuya pushed the man aside. He hated hearing those pleas. The man had a point though. It would be even more annoying if he scared his new staff out of reporting their mistakes to him. Besides, the whole world was against him. This whimpering wreck was one of the few people who were at least not opposing him. Sad, that this was the closest thing he had to an ally right now.

Kazuya could hear the guard thanking him profusely for his mercy and weeping openly as he left him in the conference room and its scene of mass slaughter.

From the hanging balcony floor over the Millennium Tower lobby, he had a good view of what had happened. He paused and looked down at it. A dozen G-Corp Security Guards lay unconscious on the floor. Some looked to be sporting rather brutal injuries. In the middle of it all stood a man in a tank top and jeans, idly looking around, as if waiting something. Kazuya’s fingers tightened on the balcony rail. The man glanced up and caught sight of him. He gave a nod.

Kazuya stayed put, thoughts still processing. The man took the stairs up and came to stand next to him. He rested his forearms on the rail. He dwarfed Kazuya.

“Hey, Boss,” he said, like it was yesterday and not twenty-one years since they’d last met.

“I’m not your boss,” Kazuya returned, quietly.

“Sure about that? Looks like you could use a hand training this lot up. They’re the most dismal security I ever saw.”

“How did you find me?”

Bruce shrugged. “Saw you at a tournament. Was a bit shook at first. Double-checked for sure at the next one. Heard you were with G-Corp. When these guys here said I couldn’t come in because there was an internal matter being taken care of, I had an inkling you might be making your move. You like being in charge.” Bruce shrugged again. “And I guess I like you being in charge too. It’s been pretty dull without you around.”

Kazuya was silent.

He had gotten used to being alone, and trusting no one. He made plans; he followed them through; he removed people who were obstacles. There hadn’t been much change to that approach since he’d first consented to be an experiment after waking up in a lab here, many years ago now. He certainly hadn’t looked for anything more. Now that it was here though, and freely offered to him… A well of emotion rose in him so surprising and strong that it strangled him into silence. He’d given up on normal relationships, and to be given this by Bruce struck him out of nowhere and caught him completely off guard.

“Can I negotiate a pay rise? Just in line with inflation. I ain’t in it for the cash anyway.” Bruce was a kindred spirit in not dealing with the feelings-side of reunions.

Kazuya cleared his throat. He flicked open his bloodied blazer with a distasteful finger and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He selected one and set it between his lips whilst he replaced the box. Bruce tugged a lighter out of the back pocket of his jeans and lit Kazuya’s cigarette for him. Kazuya set him with a steady, intent gaze as the flame licked over the cigarette end. He knew Bruce didn’t smoke.

Bruce broke off eye contact as he put the lighter away. Kazuya could feel strands of uncertainty in the air, as Bruce waited for an indication that he was wanted.

Kazuya inhaled deeply. The cigarette smoke almost drowned out the stench of blood and death. “You made a mess of my lobby. It’s meant to look professional and unassuming.”

Bruce looked down on the strewn bodies below. Some were starting to groan and writhe as they came around. “I’ll get it looking nice ‘n’ presentable ASAP, Boss.”

Kazuya nodded. “I’m not done with upstairs yet. Watch my back for me.”

Bruce’s shoulders relaxed. He gave a slight smile. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the total lack of inspiring lines for Bruce in Scenario Campaign. He for sure came back for Kazuya and this here's the evidence to prove it ;) 
> 
> Bruce also has one line in a TK5 bio saying he was surprised Kazuya was alive so it got me wondering what their awkward reunion would look like. I have plans for an Anna and Kaz story soon too, so stay tuned for Kazuya-realising-he-has-friends-and-experiencing-one-emotion round 2.
> 
> I genuinely wasn't sure if unnamed G Corp guard would survive this encounter, but then I remembered in TK7 where Kazuya tells all his soldiers to stand down when Akuma arrives, because there's no point them fighting against an opponent who outmatches them. He's pretty practical when it comes to who he kills, so unnamed guy gets to go home today.


	36. Kazuya & Anna: NOSTALGIA

Anna swept into the office in high heels that clacked so loudly they sounded like mortars going off. She sat down on Kazuya’s desk, draped one leg over the other, and nudged down her enormous sunglasses enough to glance at him over the top.

“My starting salary is whatever Bruce is getting, doubled.”

Kazuya paused his work out of necessity: Anna was sitting on the report he’d been reading. He leaned back in his chair and interlocked his fingers. He let out a long-suffering sigh. He got up, went over to his drinks-cabinet, and took out two glasses.

“Red wine?” he asked her, already pouring it for them both.

“You know me so well.”

Kazuya handed her the wine. “Bruce happens to be training a private army for me. I brought him in on a very high rate.”

“Lucky me. I’ll be bathing in champagne.”

Kazuya raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t help the small smile that touched his lips. He turned away to hide it. “I also happen to know you want this position very much,” he said, returning to his chair.

“Oh, how’d you figure that?” Anna’s eyes went frosty, and her playful tone gained curt edges.

Kazuya smirked. “If I say no to your outrageous proposal, will you run and offer the Zaibatsu your services?”

Anna’s expression sunk into despondency. She swilled her glass. “You know I won’t,” she muttered. Her gaze fixed into the murky twirl of russet wine. Her fine features turned heavy with dark, brooding thoughts of revenge. Kazuya knew that expression too well from the mirror. He opened a desk draw and pulled out a contract he’d already made up for Anna with sum considerably larger on it than the one she’d asked for. His fingers paused on the way to his pen.

“… and what about Violet Systems?”

“_Really?_” She looked at him in disbelief and amusement. Her posture opened up like a morning flower. She tilted her head all the way back and held up her glass like it was a beach cocktail. She stretched one leg out until his view was mostly lace stocking.

Kazuya glowered and picked up the pen. He spun it irritably. “It’s a perfectly reasonable question.”

“I haven’t spoken to Chaolan in years.”

“Care to tell me what I was witnessing at the last tournament then?”

“A private reunion. Stop prying, Mr Mishima.”

“You were in a twenty-five-thousand-seater stadium.”

“Chaolan and I have a mutual comprehension of the word ‘private’ that eludes you.”

“Clearly.”

“I’m not going to run off and leave you for your brother.”

“Do _not_ say it like that.” Kazuya flicked his pen across his desk and gave another exasperated sigh. He took a long gulp of the wine without really tasting it.

Anna gave him a wry grin. Her teasing always pushed him to the edge, but no further. “You brought this on yourself by questioning my loyalty.”

“I guess.” He didn’t have to sound happy about it though.

“That my contract?” she asked, reaching over and taking the papers he’d brought out earlier.

“Mm,” he said, noncommittally.

Her eyebrows climbed into her fringe. “Very generous, Mr Mishima. I see you were planning on asking me to come back anyway. Or perhaps intended to beg me to come back, by the look of this figure.” Kazuya’s eyes hooded as that teasing failed to clear the bar of acceptable. Anna glanced at him, then away quickly, and sought to move the conversation swiftly on. “So… the whole team’s getting back together... although I suppose Chaolan won’t be joining us…”

“Not unless you can talk him into giving up that CEO position for some secretarial and janitorial work.”

“I can talk him into many things, but even that might be a little beyond my charms.”

Kazuya’s face wrinkled at the insinuation. “I think he was spying on me anyway when he served me at the Zaibatsu.”

“No one says ‘served’, Kazuya, you mean ‘employed’. It’s the twenty-first century. You’re not a feudal lord.”

“Am I not?” He smirked.

Anna rolled her eyes. “He’s probably still spying on you, by the way. If only you had a competent bodyguard who excels in all things Mr Lee Chaolan...”

“Honestly, I have bigger concerns to worry about than one annoying brother.” Kazuya’s eyes strayed to the window. He wasn’t sure if he loved the view or despised it. From here he could see the Mishima Building, so close, and yet so far.

“Oh, yes. Your kid. I’m kind of surprised to be honest.” Kazuya gave her a warning glance. “Who was it,” she continued, feigning obliviousness, “that cute animal officer who hung around? The one who kept breaking into your high security labs and getting taken out for expensive dinners as a reward?”

“Chaolan talks too much,” Kazuya muttered. Talking about Jun usually made him irritable, or furious, sometimes even violent. Anna made it seem normal though: not so distant, not so painful.

“Boss, you clean gave all that away yourself.”

Kazuya folded his arms. He could feel a faint heat climbing through his cheeks. “Enough of that. It’s this Kazama Jin that’s the problem now. I don’t know what he’s playing at, but he’s making me look like a hero, which is quite some feat.”

“Just take that and roll with it.” Anna had finished her wine, and was now tapping her foot in the air, the way she did when she was deep in thought. “This could actually be a great time for image. Now that you’re in charge here, people will make the connection between G Corporation and the legacy of your time as CEO of the Zaibatsu. But if you really sold them on G Corporation being the good guys… hell, the legacy even of your own stint in the Zaibatsu will end up on Jin’s shoulders. You’ll be Mishima Kazuya of G Corporation, saviour of the world from the tyrannical Kazama Jin of the Mishima Zaibatsu. Distance yourself from the Zaibatsu’s legacy-”

“It’s mine. I won’t distance myself from it.”

“But it can be Jin’s whilst there’s negative press and their shares are nosediving, hm? Choose those battles, Boss.”

“Hmph, I suppose you’re right.”

“I’m always right.” Anna picked up his half-drunk wine and downed the rest of it.

Kazuya watched her for a moment. She looked just as he remembered her: barely aged a day, with her clean-cut bob and her high-end choice in fashion, with a diving V-neck and dress short enough that it might have been considered unprofessional in someone less competent at their job. “You know, I thought I’d killed you.”

Anna thumped her hand on her chest as she choked on the wine. “Sorry, you what-?”

Kazuya found another pen to turn idly between his fingers. “I thought I’d killed you.” His chair squeaked as he turned it to face the window. The afternoon light had faded enough for the warmer shades of evening to touch the sky. His family name flickered and lit up neon down the side of the Zaibatsu building. “You talked me into putting you into that cold-sleep project. Then when I lost the Zaibatsu to Heihachi, I feared the worst. I often wondered if you’d ever wake up – if you were forgotten somewhere in an unattended lab, or if you’d been found and killed for associating with me, or if the machine was faulty and I’d killed you the moment I consented to let you go in.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Anna watching him carefully. “You really went worrying about me? Even with all the hell you were going through?”

“Mm. Well. Good employees are hard to come by, and it’s not every day you decide to freeze-dry them.”

“I came out looking fabulous, don’t you think?”

“If you say so.”

“It’s so hard to wheedle a compliment from you, Mr Mishima.”

“Now you sound like my brother.”

“He didn’t even need a freezer to look ageless and perfect. If Violet Systems have developed anti-aging technology, then that’s it, I’m absolutely giving up all my loyalty and respect for you, and running off to join them.”

Kazuya looked at her. _Loyalty and respect._ He raised an eyebrow.

She stretched her arms above her head until her fingers clicked and yawned. She was definitely avoiding his eye, he decided.

“There was a problem with the cold-sleep machines,” Anna admitted, a few moments later. “Not for me,” she said, raising a hand, because Kazuya had sat forward in his chair. “For Nina. She had memories problems when she thawed out. Or maybe it was her weird way of trying to start afresh. No, I’m pretty sure she had real memories issues. Anyway, I think it’s mostly all back now.”

“Do you know why she’s working for Jin?”

Anna shrugged stiffly. “Why does anyone work for anyone?” Kazuya waited that response out. “I don’t know, money probably. Nina’s very professional with her assignments, she rarely has any personal stakes in anything she chooses to do.”

She sounded bitter about that, but it was hard to tell. Anna was bitter about everything when it came to Nina. Kazuya could feel there was more Anna wanted to say. He wasn’t very good with these sorts of conversations.

“You wish she was more personally invested?”

“Yes!” Anna jumped on his words. “Personally invested in _anything_… would do for me. Sometimes I’m not even sure she’s that invested in our rivalry… She acts like I’m a fly she’s swatting as she gets on with life… I wonder if she even thinks of me when we’re not fighting…”

“I’m sure those fights are personal to her,” Kazuya assured her. “She just acts dismissively to make the matter seem beneath her. Family is always personal.”

“She talks down to me and acts like our rivalry means nothing to her when it’s my entire life! I’ve always been in her shadow, and she doesn’t even have the audacity to hate me with one-hundred-percent of herself!”

The room felt a little colder to Kazuya then. He slid open his desk draw again and got out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Anna.

“No, yours are terrible.” She got out a pack of her own, and a cigarette holder. They smoked in silence for a moment.

“I’m like that,” he said at last. She gave him a quizzical look. He gestured. “Like how you described Nina. That’s me.”

“You’re _nothing_ like her,” Anna hissed. Kazuya continued regarding her through the smoke that shifted between them. Anna pulled back a little. “… Huh. Your eye…”

Kazuya waved dismissively. “It does that now. Glows red. Not sure why.” The conversation about Nina was making him uncomfortable. It stirred up a lot of unresolved feelings about his own sibling rivalry. “Enough talk. Nina is firmly embedded in a powerful organisation where she’s untouchable. I have a corporation that can rival it and is at war with them. You have some vague nostalgic sentiments encouraging you to work for me, I have some leftover feelings of guilt I want to be rid of. Sign the contract and let’s be done with this.”

“You also think I’m good at my job.”

“I also think you’re good at your job.”

“And I’ve actually never worked for anyone else, because no one could measure up to you as an employer.”

“…”

“All signed!” She’d used his favourite fountain pen and signed in a flourish that scattered ink across a dozen important documents. “…Oops! Something to remember me by.” She stood and blew him a kiss. “Thanks for the wine, Boss!”

She clacked her way to the office door. She paused with her fingers on handle. She was mostly silhouette and poised with hesitations. The office was quiet. It had filled up with long shadows and a madder rose light that made memory feel near.

“I thought you were dead too…” she said. “I had to read fifteen-year-old newspapers to find out the details… I wondered for so long if I could have prevented it if I’d stayed at your side.”

“No one can prevent Heihachi from doing anything when he sets his mind to it.” Another quiet. Kazuya could see her looking back at him over her shoulder. There was struggle in her eyes. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said. Then with more bitterness: “I was distracted, paranoid, and underprepared. Next time, I won’t be.”

“I won’t let this thing with Nina get in the way of being where you need me to be.”

“You do what you have to. Revenge is revenge. I won’t ever stop you.”

Even in the half dark he could read Anna’s body language and the gratitude that sentence kindled in her.

“You really aren’t anything like her, you know…” Anna’s voice was quiet, and still in that uncharacteristic place that made him spill emotions and other awkward things he didn’t realise he still had.

Kazuya gave a huff and stubbed out his cigarette. “Go talk to Chaolan about that. He’ll make you see differently. And this time, somewhere actually private. And spare me any details…”

Anna laughed. It was her normal laugh. She seemed more at ease though. Her posture was all extravagance and confidence again, but her eyes had filled up with softer things and brimmed with respect. She gave him an elegant curtsey and a grin. “If you insist, Mr Mishima. No details at all, however _excellent_ they may be.”

Kazuya glowered at her. She gave another tinkling laugh, then waltzed out the door. It closed behind her. The Mishima Zaibatsu no longer felt like it was out there taunting him with its neon lights, but like it was in here, right where he’d left it, with the people he’d raised up returned to his left and his right hand. It was all coming together. It was all coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not work out how Anna would address Kazuya, then after a while I thought that might be because Anna herself isn't sure how she would address him. She wants to joke but also pay respects, and assert independence but also looks back fondly on the old days. She's all over the place so now so is her dialogue :p
> 
> I have lots of Anna thoughts, so hopefully some of them come through a bit in this. I think Kazuya respects her a lot and values both her and Bruce more than he'll ever let on. She also gets him talking, which as we've just seen is not something Bruce does :p


	37. Chaolan & Bruce: ETHEREAL

Bruce frowned as he looked over the CCTV. He hadn’t had much experience with the system before, but this job came with a lot of fast learning curves he was expected to master. Thus far, at least, he hadn’t fallen short. This kept coming as a surprise to him, but then, lots of his life was a haze since his accident. It was easier to follow Kazuya’s lead, since he seemed to have a better idea of what Bruce was capable of than Bruce himself.

“Alright,” he said, checking off the list he’d been handed. “That’s all the shipments accounted for. There are some additional bribes that need paying – apparently the Osaka shipment ran into some trouble at the docks and we only got the kangaroos in on good faith that we’d line the necessary pockets. I put the promise of payments under the shipping manifest. Get this typed up and put on the Boss’s desk.”

He offered the clipboard back and leaned back over to check the CCTV. The grainy videos made his eyes hurt. They gave off a low hum and a crackling blue glow in the darkened security office. He was about to ask the CCTV operator to turn one of the cameras so that he could better see the cargo being unloaded, but he paused. The clipboard was still in his hand and hadn’t been taken. He frowned and looked over his shoulder.

He swallowed and got up. The secretary who'd handed him the documents was Lee Chaolan.

The security booth felt smaller and colder.

“Oh… Mr Lee, didn’t realise it was you.”

The positioning of Lee Chaolan in the Mishima Zaibatsu was a source of anxiety and consternation to many employees, Bruce included. Bruce had known Lee briefly before Kazuya’s takeover, and had gotten used to giving him the generic respect these aristocratic Mishimas expected. When Kazuya gave his brother a humble role in the corporation, it was clearly intended to be some kind of revenge act. There was unresolved conflict between the brothers – enough to apparently warrant Kazuya humiliating Lee by handing him menial secretarial and janitorial tasks. Either way, Lee was vastly overqualified for the position he had, and technically Bruce held seniority over him. The whole affair put Bruce in a very awkward situation.

Lee gave him an icy smile.

Bruce looked at the clipboard. “I’ll… uh… send these up myself, gotta… go up to the Boss soon anyway.”

“Nonsense,” Lee’s smiled widened, but his eyes had gone even colder. “It is my _job_ after all.” He took the clipboard.

Bruce was on edge. Kazuya might be in charge, but everything in the Zaibatsu went through Lee Chaolan. Lee could make his life very difficult for him if he wished to. He could make him look like a fool in front of Kazuya too.

“No, no, it’s fine, I got it.”

“I insist.” Lee took the clipboard with him and strode out of the security booth. Bruce cursed under his breath and followed after him.

“Uh, Mr Lee?”

They were in a glass corridor that linked the main Zaibatsu building to Mishima Industries central tower. The view straight down to the ground hundreds of feet below always took Bruce by surprise. A thick snow was falling and flakes drifted in a dance all around them. Lee turned gracefully at his name. He looked like he’d been born walking on air. His silvery hair was silk straight and, combined with his sheer white suit, the ethereal look was one tailored as a reminder that he was a cut above every other employee. There was more than that to it though. With snowflakes floating soft all around him, Lee was seamless elegance and possessed of an otherworldly, unsettling beauty. That look he gave Bruce now, of aloof indifference, made Bruce feel like he’d stepped out of a blackened brick-end back-alley into a glowing ballroom, and was the only one in rags at a kingly court.

Bruce didn’t really do apologies, but he knew when he’d made an error that was about to make his life much more difficult. Even if he did apologise though, Lee would just give him that brilliant smile again, whilst eyes stayed remote and cunning.

“Could you give me some advice on the security updates I have planned?” He wasn’t good at asking for help either, but sometimes you had to suck it up and try. Besides, they were alone, and there was no one to see his humility but Lee. And it was easier like this, whilst the guy looked like some king in his ice palace.

“I’m sure there’s nothing I could add.” Lee gave a silvery smile to match his silvery hair.

Bruce scratched his head. “There are places where security overlaps with business, and I got tops something that might qualify for experience in just about one o’ those. I’m a fish outa water here. I could real use someone like you lookin’ over everything. I don’t wanna look like a fool in front of the boss.”

“Aren’t you close and in tight with Kazuya?” Lee asked, a touch imperiously and with a fine edge that someone who valued their job less might dare interpret as jealousy. “Kazuya is more than capable of looking over both business and security matters.”

Bruce’s thoughts fled from trying to get onto Lee’s good side, to the daunting prospect of handing a mediocre half-done report up to Kazuya for inspection.

“I wouldn’t give him something that’s not up to scratch. If he was feelin’ merciful he might just roll his eyes at me. But if he…” Bruce trailed off. Lee’s incisive gaze had set on him though. He had Lee’s full attention for the first time. He felt spurred to continue under that inquiring look. “On a bad day it… it’s not so easy. Sometimes-…” Sometimes the air felt like it had done a long time ago – with gunfire ricochetting off alleys, bullets chipping concrete, the snap of firecrackers, backfiring engines, the smashing glass of store fronts, the yowl of street cats and the crash of trash cans, football over tinny radios drowned out by the wail of police sirens, and the weight of threat threaded so thick through the air that he’d felt it on his shoulders, felt it when he drew breath into his lungs, felt it in the low pit of his stomach, felt it in the pound of his heart. He’d grown up fighting for everything he had, toughened by the world, but sometimes when Kazuya looked at him, he wanted to hide.

Bruce looked away. It annoyed him to think of that. It annoyed him to acknowledge that there might be things he was afraid of. Especially a someone. Because Kazuya was a friend as well as a boss, and it felt like a betrayal even to think to himself that there were times he looked at him and his only thought was to run.

“I see,” Lee said. He was still looking at him. Lee had this way he would look at you that made you feel like your soul was wide open for the reading. That worried Bruce too. Some people were too clever for their own good. He wanted to swing opinion his way so he didn’t get in trouble, not lay bare his insecurities to someone whose currency of power was knowing secrets. Lee seemed to know everyone’s secrets. Even the ones Kazuya tried to keep from him.

“Let’s go and look over your security arrangements then.” This time Lee’s eyes were warmer and there was a gentleness in them that made Bruce almost exhale with relief. He didn’t though. He just gave a curt nod, and led the way out of that place of stillness and snow and silence, back to the grainy glow of the security booth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saved as Bruce Lee in my docs. It was time for some insecure Bruce and faerie Lee. Something short, still, n snowy at Christmastime (:  
Thank you all for your beautiful comments! I will answer them all soon!


	38. Nina & Anna: TEA

The café had a striped awning that glowed orange with the bright of the sun. Anna shaded her eyes as she peered at the outdoor tables. The little international café looked out of place in the Tokyo bustle, much like the blonde woman sitting at a lone table in the corner. Anna’s heart beat faster and her perfectly plucked eyebrows downturned into dark scribbles. She let one hand stray into her handbag and cock the hidden pistol she had there. She pointed it at the woman through the bag as she approached. Years of hatred and hurt swelled ugly and tentacled in Anna’s gut. This time she wouldn’t hesitate. If it was a lie, and another ploy to lower her guard, she swore this time she wouldn’t hesitate. She tilted the barrel of the gun towards her sister’s heart. There hadn’t been a moment since their childhood where they’d stood this close without tearing everything in sight apart in an effort to kill one another.

Anna sat herself down slowly opposite Nina. Nina was dressed in all-in-one motorbike leathers – camo purple with heavy-duty boots to match. She wore her sunglasses with the casual air that spies in movies had, that suave, untouchable elegance, like the world neither troubled them, nor warranted the slightest bit of their interest. Anna altered the broad brim of her scarlet bonnet. She wore long silk gloves and a halterneck dress that she now felt might not be too practical next to her sister’s jumpsuit if it came to an altercation.

“You’re the one who contacted me?” Nina asked.

Anna couldn’t express what that sentence did to her. It was as though something died inside her chest. At the same time though, something else also shimmered with hope.

“That’s correct.” Anna smiled sweetly. Her right hand stayed on the gun. She plucked a menu up with the other.

“My Japanese isn’t great,” Nina said. “I’m just glad you chose a restaurant where I can read the menu.”

“I know,” Anna replied. She squashed down the flutter in her chest that came from Nina saying she was glad about something she’d done.

“So you do know something of my past...” Nina mused.

Anna wished she’d taken off her gloves, because her finger on the trigger was sweating under the silk.

“If you’d let me choose your refreshments for you…?”

“Hm? Sure.” Nina shrugged. “No idea what I like anyway.” She sat back in her seat and crossed her legs. She looked so calm, so at ease. That didn’t mean this wasn’t an elaborate ploy though.

Anna pulled her sunglasses down her nose and waved over a waiter. “Black espresso for me, please. And for my sister, Lady Grey tea, with warm milk.” She ordered in immaculate Japanese. Nina raised an eyebrow. “I used to work in Tokyo,” Anna explained, waving away her curiosity.

“_Onesan_? That’s sister, right?”

“Like I mentioned over the phone, we have a personal history.” Anna’s hand was getting cramped on the trigger. She pushed her glasses back up her nose to hide the fact she was struggling with looking Nina in the eyes.

“I’m guessing it was a strange childhood, what with my apparently having the skills of a hired killer, and you keeping your finger on that handgun in your bag there.”

Anna’s cheeks flushed fuchsia to match her dress. She let go of the gun and folded her hands anxiously together on the table. She felt like she had in their youth, when their father had caught her trying to outdo Nina by guile and scolded her for it. “It was indeed a strange childhood,” Anna said quietly.

Nina stretched her arms and put her hands behind her head. “Well, whatever. I’ve no quarrel with you that I can remember, so I’ll give you no trouble if you cause me no trouble.”

Anna looked at her. Her breath came a little short. If it was all another joke to humiliate her, Nina would wait until she saw the relief and joy on her face before she stuck the dagger in and twisted. “You really don’t recall anything at all?” she asked.

“No. I woke up in some weird tank, broke out of a secure facility, and I’ve been going it alone since then. Picked up a few contracts, got a hotel room, a bike, and a sniper rifle. It’s not a bad life.” She shrugged again.

The waiter arrived and set down their tea and coffee. Nina took the tea and sipped. She nodded.

“This is good. You knew I’d like this?”

“Yes. It’s the way our mother used to make it.” Anna was trying to stay alert to threats, but she was warmed by this – just a normal conversation with her sister. She felt her shoulders sinking with a new kind of peace that was achingly welcome. “Actually I-…” she laughed nervously, “I started drinking coffee just because you liked tea… To be different, you know?”

“Huh, something of a rivalry then?”

“Y-… you could say that.” Somewhere in teenage Anna’s head, if she was different enough from Nina, she’d thought perhaps their father would notice they were different people, with different skills, who did things… differently. Foolish really to think that drinking coffee could fix a thing like that.

“So,… a mother…” Nina put in as Anna fell silent again. “I seem to have dual nationality. Is she the British one or the Irish one?”

“British.” Anna was starting to regret calling this meeting after all. These questions… this nonchalant Nina… they weren’t hers. This… wasn’t her Nina. That rivalry had been a part of Anna’s identity for so long, that she was just beginning to realise what an enormous part of herself she’d been robbed of. As Nina sat there, saying words about people who had shaped both of their worlds, Anna was starting to realise that Nina had escaped. Nina had escaped their eternal cycle of violence, and left her there alone. A cycle of two, only populated by one. It didn’t make it better like this. It only made it… lonely.

“Okay. British mother. Irish father. And what, I left to go train as an assassin? And you came too? You look like you can handle yourself.”

Not what people normally said to her when she wore a dress with a neckline that touched her bellybutton. Anna looked at Nina quizzically.

“The gun? And those muscles on your arms? Plus the callouses on your fingers. And despite the high heels, you spread your weight like you’re aikido trained.”

“Hm. Lost your memory but not your attention to detail.”

Nina sipped her tea. “It’s just about all I’ve got, so it pays to be extra observant.”

Anna found herself subconsciously mirroring Nina’s actions, and sipping her own drink in turn. “If you like, we could do this more regularly – meet up…” Anna tried to say it casually, like it was no big deal. “I could talk you through some of your lost memories. We could even… work together, if you like. I mean, I don’t have any work right now. I’m freelance, so…” So they could start anew. And try and make the relation they’d never had before.

Nina tilted her head in consideration. Then after a moment said,

“No, that’s fine. I’m good at my job. I don’t need any back-up. And the memories? Well, it’d just be like listening to stories about someone else’s life. I’m not too fussed about them. I’ll just get on and make some new memories, define myself by what I choose, and not rely on some stranger to shape them. No offence, I’m sure it’s true that you’re my sister, but that doesn’t really matter to me. It was nice to get some info though. I’ll be sure to order this tea again some time.” She stood. “I’ll pick up the bill, since you’re out of work.” She left a wad of yen under the saucer of her teacup. “See you round.”

Nina gave a careless wave and stepped out into the bright sunlight. She got onto a motorbike and kicked it into life. The smell of diesel pooled in the clouds of exhaust that curled about the wheels. The bike roared away down the street and Nina’s hair streamed out behind her like ribbons in the wind. The sound of the bike engine was lost to the blend of Tokyo traffic. Anna sat looking at her sister’s teacup, long after she’d finished her coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me far too long to get around to writing the Other sibling rivalry. This is set pre TK3, when Anna still had some hopes of helping Nina and getting to be sisters... :(  
Also a whole scene where they manage not to try and murder each other (:


	39. Jun & Jin: MICROCOSM

An emerald blanket, extending down to the sea, a dwelling of gods.

The rain beneath them moved in sheets. Low sifts of cloud passed over the woolly ridges of steep mountains. The forests here were one, long mantle, reaching from the highest precipices to the breaking waves on the shore. From where Jin sat, he was sure he could see the whole world. The eye of the moon spilled a second sea of silver onto the treetops and milky waves.

“Are you still awake, little one?”

“Yes, of course. I am old enough to stay awake with you.”

His mother smiled at him. She was sitting cross-legged next to him on the shelf overlooking the valleys.

“Do you need a blanket?”

“No, I don’t need a blanket. I can do it the same way you do it.”

“It is alright if you do...”

Jin gave her a serious look.

She gave another smile. “Alright, if you insist. It it only an hour more until the sun rises. You have done very well.”

“Will the sun bless all the island, and not just us?”

“Of course, and further still. We are at the centre of the universe here.”

“We are?” Jin looked up at his mother.

“Yes. Every mountain is the centre of the universe.” Jin scrunched up his face when Jun said that. Jun placed her hand on the black rock beneath them. “These are places between there and here. Places of the physical and the spiritual.”

“Because the kami live here,” Jin said.

“Yes… and no. Mountains are most special when people are there, to take the mountain inside themselves and the kami too, and to right the balance of things that have been upset with that power we have been gifted.”

Jin could feel his fingers and toes going numb in the chilly air, but he was determined this time to sit all the way through until morning. He looked down at the serene hillsides and sentinal trees, and the way that moving things like the mist and cloud turned even the still silences into a constant flow.

“So, what do you mean? The mountains are only special because we are here?”

“Well,” his mother thought for a moment, “it is like this, the mountains are gateways. They are very special places where remarkable things happen, but they are intended as places of meeting. But a person…” She poked his chest. “A person is a little universe. You bring together all things inside yourself.”

“A bit like a mountain brings together the spirit world and this one.”

“Yes, indeed.”

Dawn was coming as a grey light, touching the sea as a fine distant line.

“Evil things find it hard to live on the mountain, don’t they,” Jin said.

“Sometimes.”

“We’re here to keep away the evil spirits, aren’t we.”

“Yes. Many of the things we do here bring balance and teach bad spirits the right way to be.”

“I don’t mean in general, I mean because something is coming for me.”

Jun looked at him with a sudden, terrible sadness that he knew meant he was right.

“You are very strong, Jin,” she said. “You don’t need to worry about that.” Her voice was still sad though, and that troubled Jin.

“Even if we make many matsuri for the sun, it will not stop the thing that is coming for me, will it.”

Jun’s face stayed troubled. She went very still, so that she looked like she was part of the mountain.

“Some evils are very persistent, and very difficult to get rid of. Sometimes it is a life long struggle, but every person has their struggles, Jin. Some are a little more difficult than others, but struggle is an important part of finding holy things. Do you know, it is said that every kami has struggled as a human soul first? Even the kami of this very mountain lived as people like you and me, with terrible struggles of their own, just here in these very valleys. Struggle is a prerequisite of humanity. And a prerequisite of divinity.”

“A what of humanity?”

She touched his nose. “It means you are not alone. And even the rocks know the troubles you face. You will face troubles, Kazama Jin, but all the world has faced troubles, and you are not so different from anything that has come before.”

“Mother! I can see the sun!”

A white disc slid over the horizon and ignited a path over the sea. Yakushima turned from silver to gold. Deep crimsons spilled up from the east, and each cloud it touched turned to brilliant pink.

“The sunrise is even more beautiful when you have waited all night to see it!” Jin exclaimed.

Jun leaned over and kissed the top of his head. Jin beamed at his mother, then blinked rapidly. All the yawns he’d been holding back came on him at once. He stretched, then wilted into his mother’s lap, resting his head on her knee. She unfolded a blanket and wrapped it around him, tucking it in under his chin.

“I stayed awake for the whole thing...” he said.

“Yes, you did, little one.” She stroked his hair.

The new sun was warm, filling up the world with light, chasing off the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today I needed some quiet time so I read a lot about the Shugendo faith. I first learned about it from a lady who tended a shrine in the most ancient place it is practised, and since then I've always thought that the Kazamas would follow something similar. This is a bit different to my normal stories, but it was therapeutic to write, and I will share it here anyway. I don't know why but it also felt right to incorporate haiku into the start and end.


	40. Lars, Raven & Master Raven: BURN

“He… he wouldn’t. He’s not that kind of guy…”

“You want me to replay the footage?!” Master Raven folded her arms. She did feel some sympathy for her subordinate. He still had bandages wrapped all up his torso, and whenever he took off his glasses, that scar across his face made him look more vulnerable. He should have known better though. He should have been more thorough in his data collection on both Jin Kazama and Lars Alexandersson. They were hard pressed enough for resources without these kinds of errors to waylay them.

Raven sat up with difficulty in the hospital bed. It was a private facility, as anything had to be that treated with the anonymous intelligence agents of the United Nations. This one had a curved, tunnel-like ceiling, all lined with lights like an enormous CT scanner. A holographic light display was projected near his bed pronouncing a grim diagnosis. It turned out exploding helicopters were not good for the human body.

He took the datapad from his bedside and waved a hand over the controls. He watched again as the scene in the little Middle Eastern market unfolded: UN Peacekeepers backing away with guns raised; Lars firing into their lines; soldiers dropping to the ground until the camera feed was clipped with bullet spray and sizzled out.

“Could it be doctored?” He looked up at Master Raven. “Only, you didn’t see how much this guy hated Jin Kazama. I’m telling you, he’s got no love for the guy. He’s emotional, and driven by justice, and he was walking about with this robot who-”

“He’s military and ex-Zaibatsu,” Master Raven said coldly. “You don’t think he’s capable of presenting himself as one thing and being another?”

Raven hesitated. It wasn’t like him to make a bad judgement of character, but it was true that most of his observation had occurred whilst Lars was amnesiac. Could the guy really be more devious than he’d thought?

“He wouldn’t even have made it out to Egypt if I hadn’t got him on his feet. He was _that_ cut up by what Kazama did to him, turning this robot against him, and-”

“We’ve got a dozen body cams, Raven. And a dozen bodies too, with Tekken Force issue bullets in them. And eyewitnesses. It was your guy Alexandersson. Drove an armoured car into our men, beat up a few more, emptied a submachine gun into them, picked up our target and fled.”

Raven rewound the footage. The camera was bright with the flashes of gunfire, but it was Lars alright. His heart sunk. And this so soon after his last failure. He’d known Jin Kazama could be a threat, which is why they’d put him in a straight jacket and strapped him to a table. What else could he have done? How was he to know they guy had some kind of portable laser in his head, could grow horns, and wings, and-… He was meant to have been observing Kazama too. For this to have gotten past him was a massive oversight. He’d nearly lost his life for it and many others already had.

“Let me make a call. This is probably a misunderstanding. He’ll hand Kazama over to our custody if I call him,” Raven said.

Master Raven gave him a withering look. “Take some time to recover. You’re not needed on this mission any longer.” She took the datapad from him.

“Wait!” Raven said, just a little desperately. “Just one call.”

Master Raven’s armour clinked as she turned back round. Her suspicious eyes relented. She pushed a bunch of dreads over her shoulder, leaned forward, and dropped a communicator onto his beside.

Raven gave a small, thankful sigh of relief.

“One phonecall,” she said. “Then you’re off, regardless of the outcome.”

Raven nodded. He took the communicator and slipped on the earpiece. He dialled a number, saved in his head like all confidential information he carried. The line rang for some time. He glanced over to where Master Raven was sitting. She’d sat herself down at the far end of the hospital room and was drawing data out of the pad into the air, then moving it about to fit into places on a holo-map. Flickering schematics in neon shades blinked around her, interacting with streams of data that flowed out of her enhancements.

“Who is this and how do you have this number?” Raven was startled by the sudden voice in his ear.

“Lars?” he said immediately. Master Raven raised an eyebrow at him. Raven cleared his throat. “Alexandersson, this is Raven. Come in.”

“Raven? Huh. You went dark for some time. Thought we’d parted ways.” Lars didn’t sound hostile at least.

“I thought so too, but I thought it had been on friendly terms.”

“Heh.” Lars was amused. “It’s like you said, next time we meet, we may be enemies.”

Raven sat up a little straighter in bed. “Yggdrasil still shares the same goals as the UN though, does it not? Stopping the war.”

“Of course.”

Raven untensed. “Then you’ll release Jin Kazama into UN custody? There was some mix-up earlier, he-”

“I don’t think so.” Raven froze. Lars still sounded so easy, so calm and collected – not at all like the frantic young man he’d been steering from place to place only a few weeks earlier. “Jin is no longer head of the Zaibatsu. Heihachi saw to that.” Lars said the name with venom. “The new focus should be on stopping Heihachi and Kazuya.”

“Agreed. But my superiors want Kazama brought in for trial. He’s wanted on a dozen counts of international war crimes.”

“I have other plans for him.”

Raven blinked. “This is a directive from The _United Nations_, Alexandersson, you can’t just dismiss that.”

“I have thirty-thousand troops. From what I hear, The UN were having trouble staying independent from a takeover by the Mishima Zaibatsu; something you neglected to mention last time. If you want Kazama Jin, come and get him. But just so you know, I’m pretty sure Tekken Force are after him too, and I think both of us know Yggdrasil are better placed to repel them than you.”

“Alexandersson,” Raven hissed. He turned away, towards the wall, though Master Raven no doubt would hear him anyway. He put a hand to the burns on his midriff that lit up with pain as he shuffled. “Hand him over. People the world over will not rest and rebuild until justice has been served. Jin Kazama must go on trial.”

“On trial where? The world’s on fire. Jin isn’t the one keeping your war from ending. There are two superpowers holding all the cards. Focus on the corporations perpetuating the violence if you want the war to stop. I have plans for Jin. I’m going to need him to take down Mishima Kazuya.”

“He’s dangerous,” Raven whispered. He needed to be careful. Intel on Jin Kazama’s supernatural abilities was classified.

“I have reliable intelligence that Jin’s father is just as dangerous.”

“I doubt that,” Raven said bitterly. There was a pause where neither were willing to reveal how much information they had.

“You saw Jin in the souq, or your men did anyway,” Lars said slowly. “If you saw what he can become, then you know you don’t have the facilities even to hold him, let alone to protect him from Heihachi. Stay out of my way.”

“Alexandersson-”

“Don’t test me, Raven. Send more UN troops and they’ll meet the same fate as the last ones who crossed me.”

There was a click as Lars ended the call. Raven slowly took off the earpiece. His hands dropped to his lap. He looked them. Rippled burn scarring pulled the skin taught over the back of his knuckles. He felt tired.

“Do I bother saying ‘I told you so’?” Master Raven pulled up a holo-map with a red dot in its centre. “Traced the call, by the way. Alexandersson’s in some building owned by… Violet Systems? Not big players on our radar but worth keeping an eye on.”

“I was so sure I had that guy right where I wanted him. One of those straight laced soldier types…”

“He led a coup and convinced half of Tekken Force to go with him, what about that is straight laced?”

“Did you hear the whole call?”

“Of course. Wearing my own earpiece.” Master Raven tapped a metal receiver embedded into her skull. “Maybe its time to consider getting a few implants yourself, Raven. If kids like this are getting the jump on you-… Could be due some upgrades. Not to mention you’ll be more…” she looked him over, “… fireproof.”

Raven gave a heavy sigh. “We’re not getting our mark back, are we…”

“Alexandersson… Two ‘s’s. There we go. He’s on the UN’s wanted list now. Not that it’ll stop him if he’s got the financial backing of this Violet Systems.”

“He said we should focus on G Corp and the Zaibatsu, not him and Kazama.”

“Taking his orders as well now, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“Good.” Master Raven got up and stretched, cat-like. As she flexed, the spine of her exo-skeleton rippled with light. “Rest up. You’re not going to be out of commission for long. Your man Alexandersson got one thing right, we’re so short handed even our most toasted and crispy agents are going to need to be on call ASAP.”

Master Raven stalked out.

Raven slunk back down his bed, wincing as he did, but mostly scowling. Demons,… devils,… but it was one guy with a Mishima hairdo that was ruining his day. A Mishima… He put his hand to his head. He shouldn’t have forgotten, or let the significance of that slide. They were all Mishimas. Well, he wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice. And what Lars didn’t know was that they didn’t need thirty-thousand people. They only needed one, who was as smoke on the wind, and quieter than death. Ravens in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to alwaysdoubted for the request, and Thalie for beta-reading and working through some TK6 ideas with me that inspired this.
> 
> I’ve been doing lots of wiki work on Raven and the UN recently, so it seemed like a fitting moment to answer this request. It’s a little plot heavy, as I always go for that with characters I haven’t got solidified in my mind, but I like the idea of seeing some UN fallout from Lars’s TK7 actions. It’s a mystery to me why they didn’t introduced Master Raven in that souq scene. She could so easily have been in it.


	41. Jun & Jin: LEGACY

“What you have to understand is that, I didn’t always live here. There was a time, a long time ago now, when I took some work in the capital.”

“In Tokyo?”

“Yes, in Tokyo.”

“I can’t imagine you living in Tokyo,” Jin laughed. He pulled up his hakama and dangled his feet into the thermal spring. The chalky water was creamy and warm. He nudged an autumn leaf with his toe that had fallen on the surface.

“It certainly didn’t suit me very well. If you ever go there, you should be careful. Being so far from nature… It did something to me. It was draining. It took away the parts of me I was proud of, and exacerbated the parts of me I wanted to change. I lost a lot there.” Jun’s fingers interlocked. Jin nudged his hand between hers.

“Why didn’t you leave?”

“There was something I needed to do.” She looked away, through the trees, to where the sea was just visible, rolling up the shore. It shimmered with late afternoon sunlight glittering on its wavelets. “I refound myself when I saw a vision of my father. He reminded me of who I was, and what I believed, what I stood for.”

“A vision?”

Jun smiled at him. “We are close to those who have gone. To be a Kazama is to take on many responsibilities, but we are never alone in that often-lonely pursuit.”

“What was he like, my grandfather?” Jin kicked his feet in the water.

His mother bent down and rescued the dead leaf from the pool. She held it in her hand. “I will tell you of him some day, but today I want to talk about someone else.”

Jin’s face fell. He could feel a sadness had come over his mother. “…My father.”

Jun placed the leaf in Jin’s hand. “You know he is dead, but that is not the reason I have not spoken of him before. He is dead, but his legacy is very much alive. It is a big thing to inherit, and you will inherit it, Jin, whether you wish to or not. You do not have an easy time ahead of you, holding these two halves inside yourself.”

“You make him sound like someone terrible, but he can’t be if you loved him…” Jin regarded his mother from under dark, frowning eyebrows.

“He was terrible. But he was many other things besides. And I loved him very much.”

Jin’s face turned to confusion. He sat still. He had and urge to crush the dead leaf in his hand. He could see his mother’s steady gaze on him though, reading him and waiting.

“I know we can bring balance to things that are out of order within the universe… but we do not need to go and fall in love with people who are sources of darkness,” Jin said, a little sullenly.

“We do not need to, but I did,” Jun said simply. “And besides, there was much more to him than darkness. He was a lot like you, Jin.” Jin’s eyes flashed and he scowled. Jun laughed. “A lot like you.”

“What did he do that was so bad?”

“Let me instead tell you what he did that was good. Because the world will tell you his defects, and forget his kindness. He was attentive, always noticing small details. He never judged someone by rumour or appearance. He weighed people by their choices and by their convictions. He appreciated people who were dedicated to their own beliefs, even if he didn’t hold them himself. If there was ever conflict, he had to go and meet it face on. He never let anyone else take the fall for his own mistakes. He believed in fairness and an old kind of honour – that someone had to be personally strong in character, even if it meant going to their death.”

“That sounds stupid,” Jin huffed.

Jun tilted her head. “Maybe it was. But he came from a different world. A far harsher world than ours, and it is unfair to judge him by our standards.” Jun sat thoughtfully. The autumn light came dappled through the trees and rested sun-speckled on her skin. Some of Jin’s scepticism left him as he was comforted by the soft gold and russet hues of the glade around them. “Do you know the name Mishima?” his mother asked him.

“Mishima?” Jin frowned. “Sounds familiar.”

“You will hear it often in the future. It belongs to a very powerful family, with a global financial empire. You will hear that name on every radio station, see its logo even on the crane down at the fishing docks, and you will probably come to resent it, because it could be your name, if you chose it to be.”

Jin’s eyes widened. “I’m a Kazama forever,” he said heatedly and just a bit fiercely. “That’s who my father was? A Mishima? Some rich businessman?” Jin was disappointed. He’d assumed there was at least some mystique to the enigmatic father figure he’d never heard of before.

“Yes, a rich businessman. But also a troubled young man with a good heart.”

“You keep saying that. You make it sound like all the world remembers him as some supervillain.”

Jun looked pained. “Well…”

Jin searched in her eyes. His mother always had an explanation for everything. Instead, he saw hesitation where there had been always certainty, doubt where there had only been strength. Or maybe he was just growing up, and realising his mother too was human.

“It’s like I said, Jin,” she said after a long moment. “No one else will speak on his behalf, but when you leave this island, carry him in your thoughts with warmth. Know that he was someone that had qualities no one else took the time to see. That he could be kind, gentle, thoughtful, but was plagued by anxieties and fears that never left him. He was fighting a war on many fronts, and, had he lived, he might have surprised us all.”

“‘When I leave this island’?”

“You’re not listening to me, Jin.”

“Are you saying I have to go away?! I don’t want to leave!”

“Jin.” Jun took Jin’s face between her hands. Her eyes were a rich brown, steeped in a quiet affection. They reached deep inside him with their stillness. “I’m not saying you have to do anything. I’m just saying… if the time does come. You need to know that the world out there knows the name Mishima Kazuya, and his legacy has shaped it, and not in a good way. You need to be aware of that. But the name Mishima doesn’t have to be poison. It can be changed, and you are key to that, my son.”

Jin was still afraid. “You know something! You’ve seen something and you’re not telling me!”

“Jin…”

“Something’s going to happen, isn’t it?!”

Jun put her arms around her son and held her to him. Jin clung to her.

“I don’t want to know about any Mishimas…” Jin’s voice cracked with a small sob. “I don’t want to be any K-Kazuya’s son. I don’t w-want to go to Tokyo. I don’t want a l-… legacy. I just want to stay on Yakushima forever with you.”

The crisp autumn air very cold now. The branches above shifted in an uneasy breeze. Jun stroked his hair and held him tighter. She rested her face against his head, and the rhythm of her heartbeat was loud in her embrace. Jin curled into his mother’s arms and swallowed down his unsteady breathing.

“Do you still have your leaf?” Jun asked. Jin sniffed and nodded. He drew back a bit and brushed his eyes. He showed her the dead leaf, a little crumpled, but still intact in his hand. “It’s dead, and fallen,” Jun said, “but we are called to see it as beautiful regardless. That is the lot of the Kazamas. We have the hard work of always looking for beauty where other people have already given up and moved on. Promise me you will always keep some peace and patience in your heart for people the world deems lost causes. Remember to take pauses and step back, and think about how you can bring balance to what is in ruin around you.”

“I don’t understand… I don’t know what that means.” Jin looked up at his mother. “Do I have to keep the leaf?”

She gave a sad smile. “No, you don’t have to keep the leaf, Jin.”

Jin set it free in the pool and watched it twist and spin away quickly on the wind.

“Come,” Jun said. “Let’s get in, you’re freezing.”

“I still don’t understand what I’m supposed to do...”

“We have a little more time still. It can wait for another day. For now, let us still our minds and rest.”

When Jin sunk himself into the warm waters of the spring, he was still concerned about his mother’s words, and what the future held. A sudden wind chilled his cheeks though, brightening them with clean, sharp air that shuffled through his hair. The heat of the water spread through his bones like the strength of the mountain, and for that moment, at least, he felt at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write another Jun and Jin story, vaguely with an aim of being more light-hearted than the last one, but that went out the window at line 1 when I decided it would be about Kazuya.  
I’ve been doing a lot on Tekken 6 Scenario Campaign recently, and thinking about Jin’s lines and motivations, especially his misguided belief that he is setting the world in balance. I like the idea that in that game he is the culmination of everything that could go wrong when a Kazama outlook is corrupted with Mishima power.  
And I also wanted to draw some more parallels between his story with Heihachi and Jun’s Tekken 2 backstory, since both Jun and Jin see visions of their parents when they’ve lost their way in the Mishima world. In this story, Jun says Jin is a lot like Kaz, but he’s definitely a little Jun. An anxious Jun with Kazuya’s eyebrows.


	42. Anna & Bruce: GUILT

Anna sipped her coffee and swiped through her social media. It technically counted as work – corporate espionage even. There might be some secret intel lurking in the background of one of those topless photos of Mr Violet, CEO of Violet Systems…

“This seat taken?”

Anna glanced up. A tall African American man with a mohawk, all dressed in G Corp khakis, stood before her with a cup of his own.

“Be my guest, darling.” She gestured to the chair opposite. “So you’re back here too.”

“By coincidence, yeah. Needed a job. Enjoy the action.”

“Same,” Anna said. She set her phone down and regarded him. The uniform rested easy on his shoulders, like he’d been born wearing it. “So you stayed in Japan all this time? Even after everything fell through?”

“Uh… not really. Here and there. I was in the US just before coming here.”

“So… what, you came all the way to Japan because it was the first job offer that came up?”

Bruce gave her a sullen look. He took a swig of coffee and leaned back in his chair. They were on the ground floor of the Millennium Tower. It was bright and glass walls curved around them, like some botanical garden greenhouse. It was a visitor friendly entrance; a big change from the old Zaibatsu foyer. It was nice to sit here and just be. Apparently other employees thought so too.

“And you?” Bruce said, a little accusatory. “You just happened to be in the area?”

“That’s right, darling. I joined up with the corporation that’s rivalling the place Nina works at.”

“That a fact?”

“Of course.” Anna smiled sweetly at him. He raised his eyebrows at her in a most irritating fashion. Anna glanced away.

There was a pause where they let the murmur and lull of the auditorium form a distant haze of sound, cocooning the moment in a place out of time. Yesterdays seemed closer, and less lost.

Anna spoke first. “The last thing I did before everything, was ask him to put me in that experimental sleep project with Nina. I wasn’t thinking straight. I was only thinking of her.”

“I asked him to get me out the country. Interpol were a hair’s breadth from catching me.”

“I kept wondering-”

“-if we’d stayed, maybe it woulda happened different?”

Anna swallowed. She went to drink from her cup, but found only dregs in the bottom remained.

“It’s been eating at me,” she said, wistful.

“Twenty-one years.” Bruce gave a huff. “Wish I hadn’t had to find out through the papers. But, y’know… not his style to announce himself.”

_Twenty-one years._ Anna had been in cryo-sleep for most of that. She couldn’t imagine living through the full two decades. Six years was bad enough. It was good to have someone else who knew though. Someone else who’d been there when they were on top of the world and intoxicated with power. Someone else who'd made the mistake of asking for aid at a time when they should have been loyal to the last. Someone else who had that bad taste left in their mouth. That guilty taste.

“You want another coffee?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah,” Anna said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this goes in a little set along with [Kazuya & Bruce](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21407845/chapters/68473154) and [Kazuya & Anna](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21407845/chapters/68792745).


End file.
